


Synergy

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Legacy of the Tower [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, George's Ex is a Bad Mom, It's Really Much Happier than The Tags Imply, Married for Green Card, Past Abuse, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-07-13 11:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16016564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: Synergy: noun: the interaction or cooperation of two or more organizations, substances, or other agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects.He waited until she looked back at him, then offered her a far more natural smile. “Can we start over real quick. Hi, I’m George. I’d like to raise my daughter to the best of my abilities. Would you be interested in working for me to continue as her nanny?”She held out her hand. “I’m Amelia.





	1. Chapter 1

“Don’t worry, I don’t need anything from you.”

If you were a guy like George Stark-Potts—billionaire’s son, CEO of a massive multi-national corporation and famous as hell—that was exactly what you wanted the one-night-stand who turned up pregnant to say. It helped that the woman in question was at the very top of the Hollywood A-List. She did not need his money.

A trust fund for the baby mushroomed anyway, about five minutes after he told his parents. They were mad at him and excited at the same time.

“I don’t want anything from you,” is what it morphed into next. Kayla freely told anyone who asked who her baby’s father was. He was a catch, and it burnished her reputation. But all she wanted was to name drop, and it very quickly became, “I don’t want you involved in any way.” He had a reputation and a legacy and everyone just assumed he was the one who walked. George let them.

He learned of his daughter’s birth from the press—from Ruby seeing it in the paper and calling to yell at him about not bothering to tell Mom & Dad. He didn’t tell her he hadn’t even known it was a girl.

Kayla bothered to call him eventually, deigned to let him meet her eventually, and eventually even his parents. But she was very clear that Clementine was hers. And what did he know about babies anyway? She went to spend a year filming a movie in Australia, and took the baby with her.

George went on with his life. He caught glimpses of Clementine in the press, so often he sometimes wondered if Kayla saw her as a fashion accessory. His mother complained. Ruby complained. Even AJ complained, and AJ was the only who knew the whole story.

Then Kayla got a new boyfriend, some French playboy who honestly made George look like a Mormon in comparison. He didn’t see much of Clementine anymore, except paparazzi shots with her nanny in parks in LA. While her mother was in France.

One morning not long after that started, he walked into his office to find his father sitting behind his desk. “We need to talk.”

George stifled a sigh. “What about?”

“My granddaughter.”

Stubbornness ran in his veins. “What about her?”

“She’s being raised by a nanny. Isn’t she?”

“As far as I can tell.” Dad showed no signs of moving, so George sat on his office couch. “I don’t actually get any input.”

“Fine,” he said without missing a beat. “Lets get you input.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

He waved a hand. “Legal is working on the necessary paperwork for you to file for custody.”

“Jesus.” George rubbed his eyes. “Dad you can’t just do that. I barely know Clementine. I can’t just take her away from her home.”

“You’d rather leave her to be raised by staff? Her mother is on another continent.”

“I’m sure the nanny is doing a very nice job. Better than I would.”

“Until one day the nanny pisses off Kayla. Then Clementine wakes up in the morning and discovers the only stable and loving person in her life is gone and she’ll never see them again. There will be a couple more, maybe, and then boarding school at seven. Kayla is marrying a European aristocrat who doesn’t like children. Those guys love boarding schools.”

That was the voice of experience, right there. George bit down on the urge to point out that not everyone in the world is Howard Stark. “I don’t see how you think I’m going to be any better. I can’t raise a kid on my own. She’s still going to have a nanny.”

“You and your siblings had nannies. Hey, find one that’s really awesome and maybe AJ will marry her.” Dad stood up, and he paced. “Your Mom and I tried to go it alone for like a minute and almost killed each other. There is nothing wrong with childcare during the work day. But we were your parents at night, and on the weekends. Did you ever have a school thing or big game and look and not see one of us there? Your mother ran this company and I ran the Avengers. Don’t tell me you don’t have time.”

“I’m telling Uncle Steve you think you ran the Avengers.” George sighed. He’d lost this fight the minute Dad called Clementine his granddaughter. Family meant everything, he’d been taught that from infancy. Didn’t matter if your family included a dozen superheroes and their kids. Someone needed you and you moved heaven and earth to get it done. It was only a surprise it had taken this long for someone to put their foot down.

“Fine,” he said. “Let me know what I need to do. Hell, maybe we can get the nanny to come with her. So she has some consistency.”

His father sat on the other side of the couch. “It’s not like the court is going to hand her to you and wave. You ask for full custody so they’ll negotiate. You should get 50/50, they may start you with less. If it’s less, they’ll almost certainly award her child support. Doesn’t matter she doesn’t need or want it. The court won’t care. I’d suggest asking to share the nanny and pay her whole wage yourself.”

George thought about what little he knew of Kayla. The baby as a fashion accessory. How obnoxious and loud his cousins had been when they hit two and were toddling around getting into everything. About the new boyfriend and the lack of press. He thought about them all the way he would have a business deal, then he looked at his father again. “I bet you a hundred bucks Kayla signs her over.”

Dad sighed. “I believe you. I think if my parents had divorced, Howard would have handed me over without hesitation. It was ironic that he adored my mother. If he’d done what everyone probably expected and traded her for a younger model when she turned 35, everyone involved would have been happier.”

“It was nice of Howard to set the bar so low for Stark fathers for generations to come.”

“It’s hard. Parenting. A lot of time it sucks.”

“You know, I’m sure I’ve heard that somewhere before.”

“But then you come home from a terrible day and your kid will crawl into your lap, throw their arms around your neck and offer to kiss your boo-boos, and the whole universe right itself. And your bad days won’t even involve almost ending the world.” 

George grinned. “When mom gets on the phone to yell at me they do.”

He laughed. “If you want us to come help, we can.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that would be a great hardship for you both.”

“It might be. Ruby will we pissed.”

George winced. “Please don’t piss Rubes off on my account.”

He waved a hand. “I’ll handle it. Call if you need us.” He pulled himself to his feet very slowly. Tony Stark could still own a room if he wanted to, but he was 84. A decade ago he’d had his failing heart replaced with an artificial one. He acted like it made him immortal, but George knew biology was still biology. There weren’t that many years left.

He took up next to him, torn between hugging his father or offering to help. “I’ll be in touch, let you know what happens.”

“Call if you need us. Your mother will probably come visit whether you need her or not.”

“Yeah. I figure.” He grinned. “Clementine probably needs a grandma to spoil her.”

“That’ll happen pretty definitely.”

“Too bad you guys covered up the ball pit in Ithaca.”

“I can have one installed in your house, no problem.”

George held up a hand. “One thing at a time.”

*

Amelia Pierce was not having a good day.

Her employer, who could not be bothered to return calls about her own daughter’s healthcare, had called to let her know that Clementine’s biological father was taking custody of the little girl. He’d be sending someone to pick her up in two days. Amelia was to pack up all of Clementine’s things in 48 hours, and then her services were no longer needed.

She had to swallow twice before she could even speak. She’d taken care of Clementine her whole life. Two days. . . “Won’t. . . won’t her father need a nanny? Isn’t he single and a CEO?”

“Well, I told him you were here illegally, and the Starks are very into being aboveboard and all, so that’s a no go. Anyway, they’ll want to hire their own help.”

Kayla had brought her from Australia on a tourist visa, and promised to sort it out when they got back to the US. Amelia had been desperate to get out of Australia and hadn’t questioned it. And then Kayla couldn’t be bothered. “I’m ‘illegal’ because you didn’t do the paperwork properly.”

“Yes, yes. I was very busy you know. I’ll tell you what, I’ll send you a plane ticket back home, okay?”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Amelia said, “I need two tickets, one for Milo.” She had a one-year-old son.

Kayla laughed. “When they’re little they sit in your lap! I’ll get you a ticket for Friday.” 

“Friday? I can’t— I don’t have anywhere to go back there. I can’t just—“

“Well,” Kayla said slowly, like she was talking to an idiot, “You won’t be living in my house any more once you’re not in my employ. So you’ll have to go somewhere on Friday. Might as well be Australia.”

She thought about crumpling. She thought about telling Kayla she was a terrible person and that she could go fuck herself. She thought about screaming. She thought about how the NDA she signed and wondered if a tell all book would sell well enough to cover the costs of the inevitable lawsuit. 

But she had too much to do right now. She had to pack. And then go upstairs and try to prepare a toddler to have her world shattered. Right now she did not for one second doubt that Kayla would call ICE on her just to be a heartless bitch. “I’ll take a ticket to Brisbane.”

After she hung up, she cried until the babies woke from their naps. Then she squared her shoulders and got to work.

It was awful and depressing and she didn’t get much sleep, but she managed to get Clementine, Milo, and herself all packed in the allotted time. Kayla’s PA sent her the ticket to Australia, which Amelia tucked away in her purse and tried not to think about.

She expected the new nanny to show up to get Clementine. Probably some young bimbo who’d never changed a diaper, based on what she knew of George Stark. She tried not to cry again, thinking about poor Clem being watched by someone who didn’t know her or care about her. More crying wouldn’t do her any good.

At ten am the doorbell rang.

She took a deep breath and stood, leaving the two of them in the very baby-proofed playroom with the door open and gate up so she could hear. She took another deep breath and went to open the door.

On the other side was not a busty child education drop out as she had expected, but George Stark himself, in a crisp button down shirt and suit pants. He was just taking off his sun glasses as she opened the door and gave her the smile she’d seen on the front of magazines when he saw her.

Oh, she was not in the mood for that. “Don’t smile, this is going to be very ugly.” She stepped back into the hall and towards the playroom, leaving him to follow. She assumed. “I packed her a couple suitcases with her essentials. Kayla wanted me to give you all of her furniture and toys. You’ll need to send movers, or at lease someone with a truck.” She stopped and turned. “I assume you’ll need her carseat, did you bring a car with a back seat and a roof?”

He blinked. “Yes. It has a trunk, too. And I have a car seat, but if she’s attached to hers we can switch it out.”

“In the grand scheme of things she’s losing today, I don’t think she’ll notice the car seat.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he blew out a breath. “Look, I know you have a thing lined up in Australia, and I hate to be that guy, but is there anything I can offer to get you to stay? I don’t know what Kayla was paying you but I can beat it.”

Amelia wheeled around. “ _What?_ ”

“Kayla told me you had a new job lined up in Australia, when I asked about you coming along with Clementine. I know you’ve been with her a long time and I really think it would be better if she had you with her during the transition at least. So if there’s anything I can offer that-“

It took that long to get her mouth working. “That fucking _bitch_.” This was an entirely new level of anger. She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe she. . . and she told you. . . fuck.” 

“And Kayla strikes again.” He waited until she looked back at him, then offered her a far more natural smile. “Can we start over real quick. Hi, I’m George. I’d like to raise my daughter to the best of my abilities. Would you be interested in working for me to continue as her nanny?”

She held out her hand. “I’m Amelia. Did Kayla tell you I’m here illegally and working under the table?”

“She did not mention any of that,” he told her, shaking her hand. “Probably because it would look terrible for her in court.”

Amelia sighed. “She brought me here from Australia, and screwed up the paperwork. When my visa expired, I was eight months pregnant and not allowed to travel. Soon I was stuck here—if I leave at this point I’ll be barred from returning for ten years. Kayla told me she told you about all of that and you didn’t want to get involved in the mess.”

He crossed his arms, frowning. “I mean, it’s not ideal. But I have very expensive lawyers and Stark deals with work visas all the time. I’m sure we can get it sorted out.” He gestured to her. “If you’d like to stick around, of course.”

She wasn’t going to have to leave. She wasn’t going to have to watch Clementine drive away knowing she’d never see her again, knowing Clem would keep asking and keep crying, not understanding why she’d been left. Her vision swam until he was blurry. “Excuse me,” she choked out, turning away so he wouldn’t be watching her cry. 

After a moment, a hand appeared over her shoulder, waving a handkerchief. She took it with a nod, privately wondering who the hell carried handkerchiefs in this day and age. She wiped her face and blew out a shaky breath. “Thank you. You don’t have to pay me, really, until the immigration gets sorted out. Just give me somewhere to stay and feed me.” She looked up at him. “It’s worth it for Clem.”

“I’ll pay you something. You have a kid to take care of.” He frowned. “You have a kid, don’t you? You said you were pregnant so I assumed-“

“Yes, yes. I have a son, he’s one. I hadn’t even gotten to that yet. But he eats off my plate and breastfeeds, he doesn’t need much.”

“Whoa, whoa.” He held up his hands. “Seriously. You’re not stray pets. I will feed and house you both and give you a stipend. When we get your immigrations stuff worked out we can talk formal salary and benefits and all that fun stuff, okay? For now you’re just. . . a friend who’s helping me out, okay?”

She nodded, and took a steadying breath. “Look I. . . I love her like she was mine, and I thought I was losing her. It’s been a rough morning.”

“I’m sure. I’m guessing it’s been a shitty few days. What do you say we get loaded up and I’ll show you all where we’re staying? Then we can go get ice cream or something.”

“That sounds wonderful.”


	2. Chapter 2

Amelia lead George to the play room, where Clem came bounding over. Amelia scooped her up, and she hugged her neck. “Clem,” she said gently. “This is your Daddy.”

She peered at George and he smiled at her. “Hi there. We met a really long time ago but I don’t think you remember it.”

Clem shook her head and buried her face in Amelia’s shoulder. “She can be shy,” Amelia told George. Her son had toddled over, and hugged his leg. “That’s Milo. He’s. . .not.”

“Well, at least someone likes me.” He ruffled Milo’s hair. “Hey buddy. How you doing?”

“No!”

“He only knows three words,” Amelia said. “His favorite is No.”

“It’s a good word to have.”

“I need his carseat out of the car here, and our stuff—she was kicking me out this evening so we’re packed. Will you send people to get the rest?” She gestured at the playroom.

“Yeah. I’ll call my assistant and get some movers over here. I have a room set up for Clem and there’s a guest room you and Milo can use.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Really.”

“You’re welcome. I promise I’m not as much of a shit as my reputation indicates.”

“That’s very good to hear. You already seem better, if I’m honest.”

He grinned. “It’s a Stark tradition.”

“Can I leave you with the two of them while I go and gather the rest of the bags?”

Ruffling Milo’s hair again, he said, “I think I can handle that.”

Amelia got their suitcases, and also packed up the portable crib Milo slept in. There was a Bentley parked outside that had a big trunk George managed to tetris all the suitcases into. She installed Milo’s carseat and got everyone strapped in. The carseat he had for Clem evoked the Iron Man suits his father had worn. It lifted and turned for her to climb in, put the harness on automatically and tightened with hiss. A female, Irish-accented voice from the car speakers said, “Secure. Hello, Clementine.”

Her eyes got huge. “Who that?”

“That’s my friend, FRIDAY,” George told her. “She lives in my car and in my house and helps me out.”

“Wow,” Clem said, sounding awed. “Hi, FRIDAY.”

“Hello Miss. Clementine. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Amelia climbed in the front seat and sighed. What an emotional roller coaster. She still didn’t know what she was supposed to feel. For the moment she was just going with it. George left her to her thoughts, driving west out of Hollywood towards Santa Monica, then swinging up the coast highway. Clem had a great view of the water and pointed out the birds and boats. They hit Malibu and he pulled off the road, up a hill and parked in front of a huge mansion that practically hung off the cliff.

She was used to extravagance and luxury from working for Kayla, but this was something else entirely. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” George said on a sigh. “Dad really doesn’t do subtle.”

“It’s gorgeous. Honestly.”

“Thank you. I spent part of my childhood here, and I had a baby proofing expert in to look at it.” He turned to look at the kids in the back. “Wait’ll you guys see the play room.”

It was surprisingly homey inside. It didn’t look like the sort of house a guy like George lived in. It looked like a house a family would live in. But then, she supposed it had been built for that. The playroom was off the family room, separated by a movable glass wall so adults could watch the kids from the couch and close off the sound if they wanted. It was a huge space, and it was brightly colored toddler paradise in there. If it had been built for the Stark-Potts children, it had clearly been completely redone for Clem. 

She bolted in, and Milo wiggled to be put down to stagger after her. He took three unsteady steps and then dropped dropped down to crawl, which he was faster at. “This is unreal,” Amelia said.

“We didn’t have time to get the ball pit put in,” George commented.

“I think they’ll survive,” she said dryly.

He shrugged. “Want me to show you your room?”

“You’ll have two tantrums if I take them out now.”

From the ceiling, FRIDAY said, “I will watch them, ma’am, and let you know if they get into any trouble. There is nothing dangerous in that room.”

She looked up. “You are going to take some getting used to.”

“In a week you won’t know how you lived without her,” George told her. “FRIDAY was my nanny’s best friend.”

“In that case, yes, I would love to see my room.”

He gestured and led her down the hall and up a short flight of stairs before opening a door. “Here you go.” A peek inside revealed a fully furnished bedroom with a view of the ocean.

It was like a luxury hotel in there. She went inside mostly to stare at the view. She heard a hum behind her, and there was a hovering bot laden with her bags floating into the room. George pulled them off before she could move, frowning at the pack-n-play. “We’ll get you a real crib.”

“Thank you,” she said, because she sensed he wouldn’t take no for an answer—and anyway Milo was really outgrowing it.

“Let me or FRIDAY know if there’s anything else you need. We have access to a literal garage of kid stuff.”

“I think mostly I’m a little shell shocked right now,” she said honestly. “But I will probably need some things, yeah. And also a trip to the store for diapers and such. I don’t know how you want to handle transportation. Kayla had a car for me.”

He grinned. “Oh, I think we can dig up a car for you.”

She laughed at the way he said that. “You have a dozen cars, don’t you?”

“Closer to two dozen. Some you might not want to touch, but there’s some normal ones too.”

“Well, you are a Stark. Can I see Clem’s room?”

“Yeah, it’s over closer to mine. I wasn’t sure when I’d get a nanny and didn’t want her too far away.” He led her back down the stairs, across a living room to another hall. “This is mine,” he said, pointing to a door. “When my brother is in town he’s at the end of the hall. And this is Clem’s.” He opened the door across from his to reveal a room painted cornflower blue, with a big mural of a rainbow and forest on one wall. It had a little white toddler bed, a larger day bed pushed against one wall, and carious matching white furniture, all bolted to the walls. “If she wants to change it, or add something, I can take her shopping.”

“It’s really beautiful,” she said. She wandered the room to get a better look. “I assumed you’d have a nanny already, and the nanny would come pick her up. Kayla probably assumed the same. Hence the lies.” She assumed he hadn’t hired a nanny because he hadn’t had time—or hadn’t given it the time. But clearly a lot of time and money had gone into preparing the house. She stopped and turned. “Who was going to be watching her next week?”

“Me,” he said, looking a little surprised. “Probably with some help from my parents who are very excited about grand baby access.” He smiled. “I took some leave. Bonding leave, I guess you could say. There’ll be a couple phone calls and meetings here and there, but for the most part I get to be a fully time dad for the next couple months.”

You could have knocked Amelia over with a feather. “You took paternity leave?”

He looked a little shy. “Yes?”

“You’re just. . . a CEO. I’d have been thrilled if I could get you spend a half an hour after dinner and Saturday mornings with her.” 

“I mean, there’ll definitely be days or weeks like that. The Stark Expo in the spring is crazy, and there’s usually a medical symposium in the fall I get dragged to. But I asked for custody because I thought Clem should have a parent that spent time with her. My parents were busy, I had nannies and day care. But they also came to every soccer game and swim meet and every science fair and debate team competition. We had Christmas and birthdays and family dinners and weekend adventures. I can give her at least the same.”

“I could hug you, I really could.” She paused a moment then asked, “Why did you wait this long?”

He sighed. “Kayla was pretty adamant I wasn’t wanted. She’d made effort to paint me as the reckless philanderer in the press and I figured any attempt at custody would turn messy and public.” He strolled back towards the living room. “Then she got the new boyfriend and it became clear Clementine wasn’t fun anymore. My dad came to yell at me and well, that was the last straw, I guess. I couldn’t pretend Clem had a loving mother doting on her anymore. Not that you aren’t great,” he added hastily, gesturing to Amelia. “Seriously. I have nothing bad to say about nannies and you clearly love Clem. But it’s not the same is it?”

“No it’s not. I have no legal claim or rights whatsoever. I can be removed from her life with no notice or even goodbyes. She deserves more stability than that.”

“I agree completely.” He clapped his hands. “For now, I promised ice cream. It’ll take them all day to get bored with the play room, shall we see what’s in the freezer?”

*

There was a smorgasbord of kid treats in the freezer and fridge and Clem was won over by a sundae as big as her head. Introducing her to her big girl room helped too. George was kicking ass at the spoiling part of parenthood.

_Grandkid acquired,_ he texted his mother, watching Clem in the play room while Amelia attempted to get her son to nap.

_Are you really all right alone? I can cancel this thing if you need me._ His mother was starting teaching a seminar at Columbia tomorrow morning. It wasn’t like it was a dentist appointment. 

_I’m fine. Kayla lied to me about the nanny, so I hired her. Well sort of. THere’s some immigration stuff I need to deal with. But I have help._

His phone rang then, because his mother had decided this was worth discussing. “Immigration stuff?”

George sighed. “Kayla brought her from Australia on a visa and never finished the paperwork to extend it or get her residency or anything else. So I’m going to need to get her an employment visa.”

“How long has she been here without one?”

“About a year? She said she was eight month pregnant when it lapsed so she couldn’t fly and her son is crawling and just starting to talk now.”

His mother made a noise. “Have legal look into it. But unless some things have changed recently you may be SOL. Once someone’s been here illegal for a long enough time, they have to go home and can’t come back for some number of years. I don’t remember how many.”

“Ten,” he said with a sigh. “She was afraid of that.”

“I don’t know if there is some way around that. Legal will know. Joey might be able to help. We have multiple friends in high places.” 

“Her kid’s pretty cute, too. That’s gotta work on someone.”

“And a US citizen. In the mean time, don’t pay her any wages, just give her ‘gifts’.”

“Yeah, we covered that. She’s a friend helping me out.”

“Good,” his mother said. “I’ll see you next week then?”

“Sounds good. That’ll give us some time to get settled in our routine here.”

“Good luck!”

Her tone of voice was not reassuring. “Thanks Mom,” he said before they hung up.

Perhaps it had been an omen, for when he looked up, Clem had taken off all her clothes, including her diaper, and was merrily smearing one of the plastic slides with something that certainly looked like shit.

He was a big boy, so he didn’t immediately yell for Amelia. Instead he scooped Clem up and headed for her room. Clean the baby first, then the toys. Or maybe make the robots do it. They had to have something he could modify into a toy sterilizing ‘bot.

There were wet wipes in there, but it became quickly obvious that was not going to be sufficient. All the bedrooms in the house had their own bathrooms, and Clem’s was no different. This room had been Ruby’s when they were kids. He’d never given a toddler a bath before, but how hard could it be?

As long as he lived, he’d never understand how they got soap on the ceiling.

“FRIDAY, could you ask Amelia to come in here?” He asked finally. “I know when I’m beat.”

“I will. Your daughter is eating the shampoo.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, taking the bottle away from her. “You are a Stark, aren’t you little bits?”

“I Cem-time,” she told him indignantly.

“Yeah, I know. But you’re also a Stark.” She blew raspberries at him.

“Bloody oath, what did you do in here?” He turned to see Amelia standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “It looks like a dishwasher exploded.”

“Ama!” Clementine called excitedly.

“She got artistic with poop,” George explained. “And it wall went downhill from there.”

She grinned widely. He was glad he had at least entertained her. “You look like you’re going okay. She’s certainly clean.”

“It’s the rest of the house I’m worried about.”

“I’m willing to believe a celebrity CEO wants to parent his own children. I am not willing to believe he cleans his own bathrooms.”

“No I have robots for that. But they aren’t prepared for random poop, so I have to tinker.”

“There is going to be a lot of random poop. Just wait until we start potty training.”

He sighed deeply. “Lots of potty training.” He grabbed a mostly dry towel and used it to scoop Clementine up. “Can you handle her and I’ll deal with the biohazard slide?”

She accepted the squirmy, soapy bundle. “No worries.”

“Thanks.” He patted Clem on the back and headed for the play room, rolling up his sleeves.


	3. Chapter 3

FRIDAY had to tell him where they cleaning supplies were, but he managed it without further instruction. His mother—not raised rich like his father—had insisted all three of them learn basic life skills. He had the playroom cleaned up by the time Amelia returned with his clean and dry daughter.

She squealed when she saw him and toddled over. He lifted her up and tossed her a few times before setting her down again. “What is your favorite thing to eat?”

He could see her considering for a moment. “Sushi.”

Grinning, he glanced at Amelia. “Seriously?”

“She likes to unroll the pieces and eat the rice. I roll rice and cheese in strips of parchment paper and call it sushi. Though she’ll do it with the real thing, too, obviously.”

It was totally worth buying real sushi to watch that. “Well then. Sushi it is.”

“Order in or go out?” Amelia asked.

“I vote order in. I don’t think I’m ready for two kids out to eat.”

She laughed. “Fair enough.”

He ordered from his favorite Japanese place and the four of them gathered around the dinner table with chopsticks. Clem’s methodical, serious deconstruction of her cucumber and avocado rolls was, in fact, adorable. Milo got more food in his hair than in his mouth. He and Amelia ate an extravagant amount of sashimi and it reminded him of family dinners from his childhood. No matter how busy they were, his parents had always managed to get everyone around a table at least a couple times a week.

Afterwards, the kids got a little more time in the playroom before bed time. Amelia took Milo to her room and George took Clem, listening intently as she walked him through her bedtime routine.

She’d told him that Clem would want a book or two read to her. He was on book number 7 when Amelia stuck her head in to check on them and bid Clem goodnight.

“Ni-ni Ama!” She called, waving brightly.

“Goodnight, Clementine. Did she scam you into reading her every book in here?” She asked George.

“I think she did. I’m not entirely sure what the appropriate number is.”

“She knows we only do two or three, so bedtime doesn’t take forever. But you’re new and she’s clever.” Amelia shrugged. “It’s Friday. Feel free to spoil her.”

He smiled and kissed the top of Clem’s head. “I think we can do an even ten. It being Friday and all.”

“Don’t forget to tuck her in,” she said and ducked back out.

They read a few more books, then he sang what he remembered of a lullaby. Then he kneeled by the little bed to tuck her in. “Goodnight, Clementine.”

“Ni ni. Where Ama?”

“Ama’s in her room down the hall. She’ll be here when you wake up.”

She sighed dramatically and closed her eyes. “Okay.”

Definitely a Stark. His parents were going to love her. He kissed the top of her head as he stood. “Sleep tight, little bits.”

When he made his way out into the main part of the house, he found Amelia in the kitchen, making tea. “She go down okay?” She asked.

“Seems so. Asked where you were, so I promised you’d be here when she got up.”

“She’s a good sleeper. And you did pretty good with the routine.”

“Except for being a book sucker?”

“Clem is hard to say no to. Tea?”

“That would be great, thanks.” He took a seat at the island. “By the way, not to get all Beauty and The Beast on you, but there’s a lab down stairs you really shouldn’t go into unless I’m there.”

She brought both mugs over, sliding one toward him and leaning against the counter. She’d clearly gotten into the good tea, steeped in little metal tea balls his Aunt Amanda had stashed in every house she stayed in for more than a couple of days. “I was going to ask where in the house I was allowed to go. Kayla didn’t want me in any of the common areas of the house when she was home—so much I had a hot plate in my room.”

“I swear to God, when I slept with her I had no idea she was a Dickensian villain.”

“That’s actually really common for domestic staff. I’m surprised someone as rich as you is surprised—I mean, from your social circles. A lot of people treat their nannies and housekeepers about like you treat your robots.” She paused. “Worse, really. Didn’t your father thank his favorite robot during his Nobel speech?”

“You have no idea what Dad and that robot have gone through together.”

“People want staff, they don’t want roommates. So they don’t want the nanny hanging out in the living room when they’re home.”

“Well, you’re welcome to hang out wherever you want. Except my bedroom or the lab when I’m not in it. There’s nothing super dangerous down there, but my dad still has an active corner and, well, with him you never know.”

“And you said your brother lives here, too?”

“Only sometimes. He runs the charitable groups and spends most of his time traveling. If he’s going to be here I’ll give you a head’s up.”

She drank some of her tea. “And he won’t mind if I’m in the living room?”

“No. AJ is even nicer than me. He’ll probably talk your ear off.”

“Will I be able to tell you apart?”

“Our hair cuts and fashion styles are different. That’s about it.” He lifted a shoulder. “Well, I have a tattoo, but if you’re seeing that you probably should have clarified identification already.”

She raised her brows. “Well, now I’m curious.”

"I was in college, drunk, and had terrible friends. Let's leave it at that.”

She laughed. “And it’s not somewhere you’d see in a bathing suit?”

"No," he said, aiming for his mother's prim voice.

She looked really amused. “We’ll call it your Persian flaw.”

His brows went up, but he grinned. "I can live with that.”

“I’ve thought about getting a tattoo sometimes. But. . . I’m just a huge wimp.”

"My cousin Edie has several. She insists they don't really hurt. I think she's wired funny.”

“People have different tolerances. I went to a birth class where the teacher insisted contractions weren’t painful, just waves of pressure.” She scoffed. “Maybe for you, lady.”

He grinned. "I'm not commenting on that one. But my mother would be happy to tell you her birth stories when you meet her.”

“All mothers love to tell birth stories. Good ones, bad ones, boring ones.” She sighed a little. “Being alone was the hardest part, I think. Most women have some sort of company or labor coach or. . . something.”

George made a noise of sympathy. "That must have been scary.”

“The doctors and nurses took good care of me. It’s just long and hard and painful. A hand to hold and someone cheer me up would have been nice.” 

He sort of wanted to ask what had happened to the father. But it was none of his business and his mother had raised him better than that. "Milo's a cute kid. You seem to be doing all right.”

“Parenthood is worth it.” She offered him a smile, and he got she wasn’t talking just about herself. “It really, really is.”

"I'm looking forward to it," he said honestly. "She's fun.”

Amelia finished her tea and set the mug down. “Well, I’m happy to help as long as you need it.”

"Thanks. And I'll get my lawyers on the immigration thing. Hopefully we'll get you all sorted out soon.”

“I think I’m going to turn in early if you don’t mind. It’s been. . . an emotionally exhausting day.”

"Of course. Let FRIDAY know if you need to find anything. I'll see you in the morning.”

She stood up and took both mugs to the sink. “Thanks, George.” She turned to look at him. “For everything.”

He smiled and ducked his head. "Sleep tight, Amelia.”

*

When she’d lived in Kayla’s house, Amelia and Milo had been in the smallest bedroom. It was off the kitchen and had a twin bed. She had to turn sideways to fit in there with Milo’s portacrib set up. The house had 8 bedrooms and no one else was living in it for most of the year, but that was how it went.

She woke up the first morning at her new gig in a king bed with a million-dollar view of the Pacific. A girl could get used to this.

Milo was standing in his portacrib, gripping the edge and eyeing the floor carefully as if gauging how likely it was he could get out unscathed.

“Yeah, we need a real crib,” she told him as she got up to scoop him out. There was a comfy chair, so she sat in it to nurse him. Normally she’d then rush to go get Clementine up, but she figured George could handle that this morning.

When Milo had eaten and they were both dressed, they ventured into the rest of the house to find George and Clem in the kitchen, making pancakes.

"This is an ancient recipe," George was telling her. "Handed down from my father and his butler before him.”

“Hi Ama!” she called excitedly. She held up her arms for a hug. “I missed you.”

She put Milo in his high chair and came to give her a hug. She was standing on a railed platform that held her at counter height but kept her contained, and out of reach of the griddle. The most surprising thing about it is that was wood, and not shiny and robotic. “This is cool.”

“I have a second one for Milo if he’s steady enough to stand in it,” George replied. “My Uncle Bucky built them when AJ and I were toddlers.”

“They look very sturdy.”  
"Built by a hundred year old carpenter out of Wakandan heart wood. Pretty sure those things can withstand a bomb.”

She noticed he was making both adult-sized pancakes, and kid sized pancakes. That was adorable. “So most days I go to the park for an hour or two after breakfast. Longer if Milo naps in the stroller.”

He glanced upwards. "FRIDAY, is there any parks around here?”

“Malibu Bluffs Park is seven miles up the Pacific Coast Highway and has a playground area.”

"That sounds like fun." He looked down at Clem. "Park after pancakes?”

“Park!” she yelled, clapping her hands. 

Amelia kissed the top of her head and went to get Milo some fruit. “I will need to do some grocery shopping.”

"I guess you'll get to pick your new car out after the park." He flipped the current batch of pancakes onto a platter and poured more batter. “Though I have a service that delivers all of my groceries.”

“You know, I’m really starting to feel like I’m in a movie of some sort.”

"I should put you in touch with Violet Banner. She can sympathize.”

“Please don’t set me up with any of your friends.”

He grinned at her. "Dad will have you know that was entirely accidental and in no way his plan.”

From the ceiling FRIDAY said, “He may claim that, but it’s not exactly true.”

"FRIDAY knows all the secrets," George told them conspiratorially, flipping his pancakes.

“That’s really going to take some getting used to,” Amelia muttered.

"I will be as interactive as you wish," FRIDAY said. "The Starks are particularly used to my comments, but if you would be prefer I not interject when you're present I can accommodate that.”

“No, no, don’t change on my account, I’m just the nanny.” She addressed that to the ceiling because it felt polite.

"You are a member of this household," FRIDAY and George said in unison.

If the AI had a face, it would probably match the stubborn look on George’s. “And I would like to acclimate to its habits and not the other way around.”

"Fair enough," he said. Adding these pancakes to the stack, he put his spatula down and lifted Clem off her little platform. "Breakfast is served.”

“So what are my car options?” she asked, as she busied herself distributing the mini pancakes among the children.

"Depends on your criteria. I assume you don't want anything antique or too sporty?”

“I want something good for taking two toddlers to Costco.”

"What did you think of the Bentley yesterday?”

“That I would be terrified to try parking it.”

He considered a moment. "Land Rover?”

“You have a Land Rover?” For some reason that surprised her.

"Yes." His tone indicated there might be a story there. "It was an impulse buy.”

“What color is the upholstery?”

He screwed up his face like he couldn't remember. "Um. . . tan?”

“Oh, no way. I’ll get an ulcer.”

"Oh, right. Stains?”

“Yes.” She gestured at the mess the two of them were making with the pancakes. Clem had syrup in her hair. “Don’t suppose you own a normal sized SUV with black upholstery?”

He considered a moment, sipping coffee. "Do you consider a Porche normal?”

“Not really, but if it meets the other criteria I will drive it.”

"It's an SUV with black interior.”

She grinned. “Then it will do.”

It was, of course, as souped up as it could possibly be, with every bell and whistle, including FRIDAY. But it was a common SUV at playgrounds in rich LA neighborhoods, so she was happy. They went to the park, home for a nap, and then George tagged along for a shopping trip, in which he insisted on buying everything, including Milo’s new crib and a fancy double stroller that was appallingly expensive but she adored unreasonably.

He ordered pizza for everyone and she spent the evening reading while the kids ran around the play room and George assembled the new crib. He came in when he was done to tell her he was going to tinker in the lab and to call him for bedtime.

“I will.” She grinned at him. “Thank you. For everything. I’m going to say that a lot and you should probably get used to it.”

"I'm going to have FRIDAY start a tally. It'll determine your number of Christmas gifts.”

Amelia laughed. “Positively or negatively?”

"Which is more likely to get you to stop?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Neither.”

"You're a tough nut to crack, Ms. Pierce," he told her, shaking a chiding finger in her direction. 

“You’ll get used to me,” she replied.

"I hope so." He lifted a hand in a wave and disappeared down the staircase to the lab.


	4. Chapter 4

They spent a week getting into a rhythm. George took on more of the primary parenting than Amelia would have expected him to, and it was wonderful to see how Clementine lit up. They hiked down to the beach to play in the sand. They visited parks. She taught him the basic details of life with toddlers.

Then one morning she came out for breakfast and found his parents sitting in the kitchen.

Pepper Potts and Tony Stark were about as famous as a couple could be. Amelia had seen them on the cover of magazines, on TV, in press interviews and on the news for as long as she could remember. Her mental image of them was probably stuck a decade or two ago, because Tony had far more white in his hair than she'd expected and a very fancy-looking cane propped next to him and Pepper looked more like a disapproving grandma than a CEO.

But when they saw Amelia they both smiled and Pepper got to her feet with the grace of a much younger woman. "You must be Amelia, George has been singing your praises every time I talk to him." She held out a hand. "I'm Pepper.”

“Amelia Pierce,” she said, shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she added, trying not to look as intimidated as she felt.

"I'm Tony," he said, waving. "She'll yell at me if I get up.”

“Hi,” she said in reply. Neither of them had needed to introduce themselves, but it was polite nonetheless.

"I'm sorry if we startled you. I don't think George is awake yet.”

She carried Milo over to his highchair. “If you don’t mind keeping an eye on the baby I can go see if Clem is up yet.”

"Of course." Pepper wiggled her fingers at him. "George mentioned you had a son. He's adorable.”

“He knows how to liven up a room,” she said. Milo was already charming them, so she went down to Clem’s room. The little girl was still asleep, as was George, who was in there as well. He must have come in in the middle of the night.

He stirred when she went over to Clem's bed and blinked blearily at her. "Something wrong?”

“Depends on how you feel about your parents.”

He frowned, and scrubbed a hand over his face. "What about them?”

“They’re in the kitchen.”

That woke him up. He sat upright and stretched. "Right. That was today.”

Clem opened her eyes and yawned. “Hi, Ama!”

“Hello, darlin’” she replied. She looked at George. “I left them with Milo. I should get back.”

"Let me splash water on my face and I'll be right out." He pointed at Clem. "Bring her out, she's the main attraction, anyway.”

“Got it,” she said, picking up Clem. Amelia flashed George a smile before changing Clem’s diaper and bringing her out to the kitchen.

Tony Stark appeared to have made some sort of elaborate paper airplane and was entertaining Milo by making it do flips. Pepper looked over when she entered and beamed. "Look how big you've gotten!”

Clem buried her face in Amelia’s neck and squeaked, and had to be coaxed into saying hello to her grandmother. “Don’t take it personally, she was like this with George. She warms up.”

"It's fine, really. She hasn't seen us in years."

"I'm sure once she sees the pile of presents we brought she'll swear we're her best friends," Tony piped up.

"Dad, I said no presents," George said from the doorway. He'd changed his clothes and smoothed down his bedhead, but was sporting a bit of beard scruff that was distractingly sexy.

“I know, I just didn’t listen. This is my first grandchild and I finally get to see her without going through the living embodiment of Don’t Stick Your Dick in Crazy—”

“Tony!” Pepper said.

“Right. Kid language. Do not insert your penis into the mentally disturbed. Anyway, we brought a lot of stuff.”

"I swear if there's a ball pit in that play room I'm putting you in a home." George kissed Pepper's cheek. "It's good to see you both.”

“Your father wants to take her to Disneyland,” Pepper said.

Clem lifted her head in interest and George shook his head. "Sounds like fun.”

Amelia put Clem in her seat. “I’ll just get Milo some breakfast and then we’ll get out of your hair.”

"You should come with us," George said.  
At the same time Pepper protested, "Of course you're invited. It's much better in a group.”

“You should have time together as a family. I don’t want to be in the way.”

"From what I hear you're more her mother than anyone else," Tony piped up. "Seems to make you family.”

They all looked very sincere. “I’ve never been to Disneyland,” Amelia said hesitantly.

"Well, now you _have_ to come," George said. "I'll buy you some ears.”

*

Wandering Disneyland with two toddlers and two old people was not nearly as bad as George had feared. It was fun, actually. Amelia was a wonderful tour director and group herder, keeping the kids entertained and happy, and keeping up with a running patter of banter emitting from his father. 

That night, after both kids were down and Amelia had gone to bed herself, his mother said, “Part of me was hoping I wouldn’t like her.”

George frowned at her. "Seriously? Why?”

“Because you can’t keep her. I have had half a dozen lawyers looking at it for a week. Not even with a US citizen child. She’s been here illegally too long. She has to go back to Australia and stay there for ten years.”

"Well, shit." He tipped his head back, sighing. "There's _nothing_ we can do?”

“Not unless you want to marry her,” Pepper said.

He tilted his head back to look at her and his father barked in laughter. "Told you he'd consider it.”

“George. You can’t be serious.”

"You have no idea how upset Clem would be if she left. Plus I like her, we get along really well. I can't just turn her over to INS.”

“You’d have to stay married for several years,” she said. “And fake _being_ married. You’re too famous to do otherwise. And the paperwork would be a nightmare.”

He crossed his arms, feeling an inconvenient stab of stubbornness. "Well, I'm going to at least float it as an option.”

“You can’t have sex with anyone else for the duration,” his father said, ever blunt.

"I will not, actually, explode.”

“George. I say this with no judgement whatsoever, because I have been you. But when what the last time you had a dry spell lasting longer than 30 days? Seventeen?” 

He was quiet a moment, because there were parts of his life his parents still didn't know about and he wasn't entirely sure this was the way he wanted to tell them. Still, if he was serious about this - and for now he was, at least until he could talk to Amelia about it - he should probably convince him he was capable of it. "I went about fourteen months a few years ago.”

“Huh. I’m impressed.”

“You went longer than that after the arc reactor,” his mother muttered. Dad frowned at her, and then she added. “However, we’ve now reached and perhaps exceeded that amount of conversation I wish to have about George’s sex life and am going to get a cup of tea.”

"Amelia just refilled Aunt Amanda's stash," George told her as she pecked his cheek on her way out of the room.

“I don’t like asking people questions like that I don’t already know the answer too,” Dad said finally. “FRIDAY keeps track of everyone’s mentions on tabloid rags and internet gossip sites. Though, admittedly, you go through haircut phases where they can’t tell you and Junior apart.”

"Ah. You're saying you didn't notice any gap in tabloids mentioning I was with someone.”

“Actually I did. Junior had that hobo beard. But when I asked him about you, he said you were with a man who wasn’t entirely out and keeping things quiet. Seemed plausible, but apparently not.”

He sighed. "Dad, if you want to know why I didn't have sex with anyone for over a year just ask me. Don't be all Tony Stark about it.” Though he should thank AJ for the cover story.

“Oh, I definitely want to know. I’m just aware it’s not actually any of my business so I’m just poking at the edges until your mother comes back and changes the topic.” He paused. “But privately do consider your motives. Abstaining because your wife is sick, vs. anxiety issues vs. dealing with a particularly stubborn STD are, you know, different. Having done all three.”

Other people would probably find how much he knew about his father's sex life weird. But there had been a time his father's sex life had had its own graphic package on MSNBC. "My sponsor suggested I take a break so that I didn't trade drinking for sleeping with strangers.”

Dad looked at him a long moment. George knew his father had had a precarious relationship with intoxicating substances all his life, and he also knew his maternal grandfather had died of alcoholism. As kids they’d gotten some pretty intensive warnings, about what was in their genes and what to be careful of. AJ took it to heart and didn’t drink at all. George ignored it all. It had made it very hard to tell them later. “I traded drinking for sex once,” his father finally said. “Married the woman, so it happened to work out. But your sponsor’s advice was solid.”

"To be honest, using your rather infamous ups and downs has been a useful blue print for what landmines to took out for." He sighed and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. "To be honest, I'm surprised you haven't noticed earlier. The liquor bar hasn't been stocked in ages.”

“What, here? I wouldn’t notice. I haven’t had a drink in years. Are you kidding me? Doc is obsessed with my liver enzymes, she won’t even let me have tylenol.”

"That woman just won't let you die, will she?”

“She just doesn’t want you to get your inheritance.”

"Smart woman." He and his father gave each other matching smirks. "AJ knows. So does Annie Bennett, 'cause I owed her an amend, and Nazzie, because their roommates and notice I no longer drink when we all get dinner together. Otherwise I've kept it quiet.”

“I’ll leave it up to you if you want to tell your mother. Though if you do, then you really ought to then tell Ruby.”

"AJ has been telling me to tell Ruby for a while now.”

He tilted his head. “AJ probably knows you better than anyone on this earth.”

"He does. It's just. . . hard admitting fault to Ruby. Or mom, for similar reasons.”

“George, honestly, I think Ruby would love it if you had a flaw.”

That was probably true. All three of them seemed to think the other two were perfect and nothing they did could dissuade the others. "I don't want to do it on the phone. But I'll try to make a trip out there soon. Or try and coax her to come meet Clem.”

“If you’re really going to marry your nanny, you should have a real wedding. We’ll have a party.”

"I don't know if Amelia is ready for the circus.”

“A small party.” He leaned back. “Your mother his hovering in the doorway.”

"Hi, Mom," George called. "We're planning the wedding.”

She sighed and sat down. “At least talk to the lawyers first.”

"I'm really planning on talking to Amelia first. She may say, you know, no.”

“I’m saying talk to the lawyers first so you know what you are both asking and offering her.”

"I'll call them in the morning," he promised.

The lawyers laid it out for him pretty simply. They would get married, and then file for her green card. There would be an interview with Immigration, and then she’d get a provisional permit. Once they’d been married two years, she would get a green card.

“Once that happens, you are free to divorce. You would obviously want to set up a prenup beforehand, though they will undoubtedly want to read it, and it will hurt you if it makes it look like the marriage is a sham.”

"If we're doing this we'll make sure it'a a legitimate prenup with a reasonable settlement," he said "I'm not doing all this to only screw her over later.”

“You should also have in it a child support allotment for her son. The state of California may otherwise do so on its own during the divorce.”

"Makes sense." He jotted down a note. "I still need to talk to her, for all I know she'll balk at the idea. But if we go forward I'll be in touch.”

“Good luck, George,” he said with a smile.

He wasn't entirely sure that was the right thing to say, but he appreciated the sentiment. He thanked him, said his goodbyes and went to go find Amelia.

Quite conveniently, he found her alone in the living room. “Your parents took Clementine down to the beach. Milo needed to nap so I came back up.”

"I spent a lot of good afternoons on that beach." He took a seat on the couch next to her. "So Mom and I both talked to our lawyer and I have some bad news.”

She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I figured. Google was pretty adamant about the laws.”

"So, there is one option, but it's a little out there.”

One of her eyebrows went up. “Google did mention that one, too.”

He had to chuckle a little at her expression. "What are your thoughts?”

“Uh. That this might be the plot of a Harlequin Novel?”

The chuckle became a fill blown laugh. "The Billionaire's Green Card Bride?”

“Kind of, yeah. But on the off chance you are serious. . . I have nothing to go back to in Australia. My life is here. My son is a US citizen. I love Clem like she’s my own. I would do far, far worse things than live in a beach mansion and pretend to be married to a hot rich guy.”

"We'll need to go sit down with the lawyers - and get you a lawyer - to hammer out a prenup and such. But I'm very much serious.” He paused. “Though I’m not actually a billionaire.”

She held up her hands. “I don’t want any money or anything. Just to stay.”

"I know, but a solid prenup would make the marriage more legit and would protect us both from the state of California getting involved when we do divorce.”

She watched him a moment, took a breath, and then said, “I don’t want to accuse you of something you haven’t done and I have no reason to think you would do, but for my own sanity I would like a clause that if I need to leave early under certain circumstances I will get some compensation for losing my green card.”

He _really_ wanted to ask what she thought was going to happen. "That seems fair," he said instead.

She turned in her chair, and pulled the neckline of her t-shirt off her shoulder to show a scattering a scattering of thin, straight scars. “Milo’s father threw me through the patio door.”

George felt a flash of hot anger. "Would you like him killed?”

Amelia looked back at him. “That’s not why I told you. I just wanted you to know where it came from. It’s not that I really think you’d. . .” She shrugged. “I don’t want to feel trapped.” 

"I understand. Whatever it takes to make you comfortable is fine.”

“This is probably a much bigger thing to ask of you, but if you could try not to be, like, super drunk around me, I would really appreciate it.”

He smiled a little. "That won't be a problem," he told her. “I actually don’t drink at all.”

She smiled back. “Thank you. Then. . . if you’re sure you want to do this, I accept.”

"All right. I will warn you, we'll need to have a real wedding. Probably back east. With lots of guests and famous people.”

“Am I terrible that that sounds like a lot of fun to me?”

"Nah," he said, grinning again. "You'll fit right in.”

She blinked, and there were tears in her eyes. But she laughed. “Thank you.”

"You're welcome." And then, because he didn't really know what else to do, he held his hand out for her to shake. She laughed again, and shook it, and just like that he had a fiancee. That he’d only known a week.


	5. Chapter 5

Amelia’s life got very interesting very quickly.

She got a lawyer, and a very thick prenup. She would get an astonishing amount of money, apparently, after her divorce. . . though no one else in the room seemed to find the sum that big of a deal, but that gave her a sense of the scale she was going to need to get used to.

They left the meeting with a list of things they needed to do to make sure the marriage be seen as legitimate. Get an engagement ring. Have a real wedding. Take a honeymoon. Get a joint back account. Put at least one of the cars in both their names. Put both her and Milo on his various insurances. 

They got their first disagreement in early, over the very first thing, standing in the middle of Harry Winston on Rodeo Drive, in front of a saleslady who was giving Amelia odd looks whenever George’s attention was on the rings. Wondering why a guy like him was doing with a woman with a ponytail and a last-season maxi dress from the esteemed House of Target. “George, you could murder someone with any of those. I do not need a three-carat ring.” She wasn’t going to bother bringing up cost to a man who had Bentley and a Ferrari.

He frowned at her. "But the other ones are so small. You can barely see the stone.”

“You’ve been squinting too much at your nanobots again.” She could feel the saleslady looking at her. “I’m going to take you to the eye doctor.”

"What about one of the ones with lots of little ones clumped together?"

“They don’t look like engagement rings, and are still enormous.”

“You could get a smaller one now,” the saleslady suggested. “And then a larger one later, when things settle down.”

That felt like some sort of jab, though it’s meaning escaped her. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, your fingers will be doing a lot of swelling, many women’s do.”

Amelia blinked, and then the odd looks suddenly made sense. The woman had tried to put together the whys of the situation, taken in the cut of her dress and the fact that her stomach had not gone back to being flat after having Milo, and decided this was a shotgun wedding. “Oh, for God’s sake, I’m not pregnant.”

The woman looked flustered but didn't apologize. George straightened and before her eyes turned from the smiling, congenial fiancé to George Stark-Potts, CEO. "Is there something about my fiancee that led you to believe I wouldn't marry her if I hadn't knocked her up?"

The woman's face flushed red. "No, of course-"

"Because I was always taught that unless a woman was pushing a baby out at the particular moment, you should never assume she's pregnant. Did you miss that etiquette lesson or was there something about our particular circumstances that might lead you to believe that?"

"I didn't mean to assume-"

"But you _did_ assume, a great many things. Most if not all of them false, I'm guessing. And in doing so, you lost a big sale.”

Her mouth opened and closed. Amelia looked over at George. “Honey, I don’t care if she judges me. I just signed a paper that means I’ll never have to work again.”

"I know, darling, but I'm not giving business to anyone who would treat my wife like that." He tucked an arm around her waist. "Come on, there's lots of jewelry stores to look at.”

She leaned up to kiss his cheek, because she was enjoying this, and then waved to the woman as they left.

"So what kind of ring _do_ you want?" he asked pleasantly when they were out of the store.

“Just, like, a regular one.” She held her hands out. “I have small hands. I don’t care it’s expensive or not. I don’t want to scratch the kids with it.”

He sighed deeply, as if she was asking the impossible. "So two carats?”

Considering that when they’d walked into the store he’d started with _five_ , she was going to concede. “Okay. I can do two.” She took his arm again. “You can even pick one the fancy and rare colored ones if you’re worried about the tabloids thinking you shorted your girl.”

"Thank you, I appreciate your compromise.”

“And I promise I will enthusiastically accept an obscenely expensive couture wedding gown without complaint. Even if I’ll probably feel like a little girl playing dress up.”  
"I think the gown is going to be Mom and Ruby's department. I was sternly told I couldn't see it before the wedding.”

She laughed. “That’s ridiculous, it’s not a real wedding.”

"Yes, but you don't want our fake marriage to have real bad luck, do you?”

“There is a certain amount of logic to that, yes.”

"See, you have to think of these things. My family is a bad luck magnet.”

“I suppose that will apply to me now, yeah?”

"I'm afraid so.

Two weeks later, Amelia got to meet George’s deeply intimidating but surprisingly nice older sister, Ruby. She had been given charge of planning the wedding, which would be at their family’s compound in upstate NY. The whole thing was kind of surreal. The family had a dynamic she couldn’t quite figure out, though she supposed it wasn’t really her business to do so—she wouldn’t be staying that long, and they were on a different coast.

"So, what do you care the most about and what do you not care about?”

“Um. None? I have some scars on my back I want to make sure the dress covers, and I hate the smell of Stargazer Lilies. Otherwise, whatever is fine. And I don’t want to wear heels, I hate heels.” She was saying this to a woman who had worn stilettos for her airplane flight. Stilettos that had probably cost more than Amelia’s first car.

"Well, that will streamline things." She jotted something down. "I scheduled a couple of appointments to go look at dresses tomorrow, is that all right? And do you have any bridesmaids?”

“I do not,” she said, feeling embarrassed by her lack of friends. Socializing with strange people was hard, she’d had two kids that were nearly Irish Twins, and she didn’t really fit in with the local mothers or the local nannies.

Ruby gave her a kind smile. "Well, we have Clem and Milo as flower girl and ring bearer, that's all that really matters.”

“It’s not a real wedding—I mean, I am immensely grateful and I know a lot of money is being spent. But I don’t want to go buy the dress I pictured when I was a little girl. I’d like to wear it for real one day, you know?”

"No, I understand. There's some things you want to save for the real thing. Still, we'll make it look good for the pictures, right?”

“I bet they will be very nice pictures.”

They went dress shopping the next day at two places straight out of a movie. Ruby spoke their language, so Amelia let her do the talking and ended up with a very nice, simple white dress that covered all her scars and made her feel even more like a princess than the test of it did. It was hard, at times, to remember this was a fake wedding.

She even got shoes that were sparkly and wedding-like without having heels. Ruby insisted, while they were at it, on buying her a couple more pairs of shoes. “My Mom would do this,” Ruby said. “Whenever a new woman joined our extended family, she’d take everyone out for shoes and lingerie.” There was a pause. “I’m not buying my brother’s fiancé lingerie.”

Amelia laughed. “That’s okay. Not that he’d be seeing it.”

"In that case, maybe I will buy you some," she said with a grin, making her laugh again. "I will buy you as many shoes as you like, though. Those are a time honored Stark obsession.”

“At the moment, I am happy to take them.” As it turned out, they made very expensive flats, too. It was _really_ nice to be out without the kids. So nice she let Ruby convince her to stop for tapas and wine on the way home.

"Mom used to say an afternoon without kids was like a parent vacation. Even if you were just going to the drug store."

“I think honestly this might be the first time I’ve been anywhere without at least one.”

Ruby looked at her over the rim of her glass. "Does Mom have to lecture George about pulling his weight?”

“Well, I am technically still the nanny. And I can’t ask him to watch Milo.” He was, in fact, watching both kids right now. But that was because Ruby told him to, and George clearly took orders from her.

"When you're married, you absolutely can. Stark men occasionally need to be reminded to be adults.”

“We’re not _really_ going to be married.” Amelia felt the need to keep saying that.

Ruby waved that away. "Trying to act like his employee is only going to make it weird for you both. He seems to be stepping up to be a dad to Clem. You can make him do the same for Milo. It'll be good for both of them.”

“And then when I leave in a couple years?”

She shrugged. "Keep in touch?”

“We’ll see,” was all Amelia said. Though she still couldn’t fathom leaving Clem. The future was a little scary.

It was late afternoon by the time they got home and Amelia was a little afraid she was going to find a couple of cranky, refusing to nap toddlers and a very stressed out George. Instead, she found all three of them asleep on the day bed in Clem's room, snoring peacefully like a pile of puppies.

She leaned against the doorframe just to watch them, feeling almost spellbound. For a moment if she wanted, she could pretend this was real, and this was her family. It made some part of her ache.

Clem shifted, smacking George in the face, startling him awake. He blinked a moment, orienting himself, then saw Amelia standing there. His smile and little wave were adorably bashful. She waved back, coming further in to help him extract himself without disrupting the nap. 

"There was a lot of negotiating," he told her as they snuck out of the room. "I think I read half her bookshelf.”

“I am very proud of you. Thank you for watching them.”

"It was fun. Am I crazy or is Milo talking more than he was when he came?”

“That’s your fault, you know. You never shut up.” She smiled to show she was teasing. “It really probably is that you and I talk to each other. The more speech he hears, the more he talks.”

"Well good. We need more chatterboxes is this family.”

She opened her mouth to comment about how they weren’t really a family. . . but then, maybe Ruby was right. They were going to be a family—for several years—and it was going to be impossible to keep insisting otherwise. “It’ll certainly keep us entertained.”

They had strolled into the kitchen and George started making a snack. "I'm looking forward to the 'kids say the darndest shit' stage of parenthood.”

“Clem is a hot minute away from that.”

"We'll have to make sure FRIDAY is on alert to record.”

Ruby was in the living room, and Amelia called to ask if she wanted a snack, too. When she said no, Amelia decided to get them two glasses of iced tea. “I had a nice time today,” she told George. “She’s good people.”

"She is," George agreed. "Ruby is the glue that holds us al together sometimes.”

“I was thinking she should be my bridesmaid. You think she’d find that weird?”

He tilted his head. "I don't know. I think she'd be flattered but women are weird about weddings sometimes, aren't they?”

“Maybe? I don’t suppose you could feel her out?”

"I will. I need to talk to her about something, anyway.”

“My dress is really awesome. Really.”

"I'm glad. I knew Rubes would take good care of you.”

*

That evening after the kids were put down, George spent a little time getting some work done—working only an hour or two a day was about as close as a CEO came to taking leave, really. His mother had done the same. Amelia had gone to bed by the time he emerged, and just Ruby was alone in the living room, reading a book.

"Hey," he said, hovering in the doorway. "Got a minute?”

“You have a confessional look on your face.”

"You are far too good at reading my expressions.”

She inclined her head. “Have a seat.”

He stepped into the room and sank down into one of the arm chairs. He wasn't entirely sure how to start this conversation, but now he was sort of stuck. "Thanks for helping with all of this.”

“’Tis what I do,” she replied.

Ruby really was the fixer in the family. She got shit done before the rest of them realized it needed to be. George blew out a breath. "So. . . I'm just going to say this, because I don't know how to ease into it. I'm an alcoholic. I've been sober three years. I haven't really told anyone but I'm trying to be more open about it. So I wanted you to know.”

She looked at him for a moment, then said, “I know.”

He opened and closed his mouth a couple times. "You know?”

“Yeah, you went overnight from someone who was drunk on Sunday morning to someone who didn’t drink on New Years Eve. I noticed.”

"You're officially the most observant person in the family.”

“For a while I’ve been paying a retainer fee for a guaranteed emergency bed at Betty Ford,” she said. “Been waiting for a bail call since you were in college.”

"Well. . . thank you. But I managed to handle it before it came to that.”

“I don’t think Mom & Dad noticed, though that may have been willful blindness.”

"Dad seemed legitimately surprised. I haven't told Mom yet, I wanted to let you know first.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I imagine Junior already knows?”

"I had some amends to make with him. Annie Bennett knows for the same reason." He gave her a crooked smile. "I figure I probably owe you some apologies but I don't know that any are directly related to drinking.”

“No, just to you being a general stupidhead.”

"I'm sorry for being a stupidhead," he told her solemnly.

“It’s not your fault you’re the Golden Boy.”

He arched a brow. " _I'm_ the Golden Boy?”

“Yes,” she said, with great conviction. “You are absolutely the favorite child.”

He started to laugh. "I'm afraid that's you, babe.”

“Oh, absolutely not. Are you kidding me? I’ve never done anything they were proud of in my entire life.”

"Seriously? Every time I talk to them it's Ruby's doing this, Ruby invested in that, Ruby organized this event or that fundraiser. Meanwhile all I get is lectures on my lifestyle and dad implying I'm a manwhore. It took two days to convince Mom I could handle parenting Clem _with_ a nanny.”

“All I hear is George, George, George. What did George make, what new direction the company is taking, look at the stock price. George went to the Oscars!” She started laughing. “God, poor AJ.”

"Which of us do you think _he_ thinks is the favorite?" George laughed. "Or is it both of us?”

“Maybe he thinks it’s him. Maybe they tell him he’s awesome.”

"Our experiences indicate otherwise. Oh! Let's call him and find out.”

“Funny.” She sighed, and was quiet a moment before saying. “I was really pissed off at you for not being involved in Clementine’s life. I’m glad you’re finally doing it. But I am kind of jealous of this insta-family thing you’ve somehow happened upon.”

"I would have gotten involved before, but Kayla. . . was Kayla." He sighed. "I'm really lucky it's worked out as well as it has. But I still feel like I'm waiting for a shoe to drop.”

“What do you mean?”

"I don't know. I mean, I know most people might not think so, what with the green card marriage but everything's really gone my way so far. Kayla was happy to give me custody, Amelia and I get along well, I don't suck as a dad. I suppose I'm just waiting for the inevitable pendulum swing.”

“A lot of things go your way. Our way. We’re very privileged people.”

"I know, but we're also Starks. Things seem to crash down on us on occasion as well.”

“I’ll give you that. But don’t get paranoid, you’re starting to sound like Dad.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Never."

“Enjoy what you have while you have it.”

He nodded and tipped his head back. "You sound like my sponsor.”

“A lot of people cry on my shoulder,” she said, reaching out to pat his arm.

"You're good like that." He caught her hand and squeezed it. "You're a good sister.”

“Thanks,” she said, with a genuine smile. “You’re not a half-bad brother.”

"I do try." He sighed. "I'm really sorry if this brings down the mood, but Amelia was wondering. . . if you'd be comfortable standing up for her at the wedding.”

“It’s a good idea,” she said easily. “Every little bit of legitimacy to this shenanigan helps.”

He watched her a moment. "You're sure? If it's going to be awkward for you we'll both understand.”

“Believe it or not, I like being a bridesmaid. Though, I imagine AJ will be the only groomsman, which will make half of the bridesmaid fun moot.”

"Yeah, sorry. If we were getting married in LA I could probably line up some fresh meat for you, but not so much in New York.”

“I live in New York, I’ve seen all the meat. None of it’s fresh anymore.”

"Well, maybe you should come out for a couple weeks in the spring. I'll take you to some parties.”

“I may take you up on that.” She looked at him. “Oh. You need to plan a honeymoon. Maybe take the kids and go to Hawaii for a week or two? Mom and Dad are in New York for the summer, I think.” Their parents spent a lot of their time these days at his family’s estate on Kauai.

"I hadn't thought of that, but it would probably be the best answer. I bet Amelia's never been.”

“We’ll get Clem lots of sunscreen.” His daughter had his mother’s red hair and the skin that went with it.

"And a little baby parasol to carry around.”

“I’m certain there’s a boutique in LA you can pay $500 for one for her to ruin,” she said with a grin, then pulled herself to her feat. “I’m heading to bed. Goodnight, George.”

"Goodnight Rubes. Sleep well.”


	6. Chapter 6

They planned the wedding to take place at the end of George’s paternity leave—they’d get married, take a week ‘honeymoon’ and then he’d go back to work when they returned to LA. 

It not specifically been planned to happen the week the leaves turned for fall in Upstate NY, but it happened to be and it was absolutely gorgeous at the compound. It was sunny and 70, and Ruby had outdone herself with the arrangements. Amelia braved his loud, sprawling family like a champ, and every last one of them fussed over both kids like they were siblings.

The whole thing felt very. . . real.

"Is it just me, or is this all kind of surreal?" he asked Amelia when they had a quiet moment at the reception.

“ _You_ find it surreal?” she replied with a laugh. “I just danced with a Norse God who cheerfully informed me he moved an entire storm system out to sea for my wedding.”

George waved a hand. "Thor is far from the weirdest person here. You should meet his brother.”

“I admit, I was hoping to see the purple android and the woman who can’t be photographed. Your cousin Ada informed me they couldn’t make it because they were somewhere called Xandar. I just smiled and nodded but I have no idea where that is.”

"It's a different planet," he told her, mostly to see the expression on her face.

She blinked a few times. “Okay. What was it you found surreal?”

"It just feels very real. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, my family loves a party.”

“Well, that I agree with. Though my life has been so thoroughly upended and is so unrecognizable anyway. . . I may be past surreal.”

"I suppose you're just rolling with the weird at this point.”

“Pretty much. Looking forward to Hawaii.” She grinned and he noticed, not for the first time, how pretty she was. He’d heard it said all women were at their most beautiful on their wedding day.

"Did you buy a bikini?" he found himself asking. "There's a private beach.”

“I packed my dignified one-piece that I wear to the beach at home. I have stretch marks.”

"The beach is private," he reiterated. "I assure you the kids and I won't mind.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my current bathing suit.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he couldn’t read her face. “Are you asking me to buy a bikini?”

He felt his cheeks heat and he really didn't remember the last time he blushed. He was thinking about her in a bikini now and couldn’t stop. "I mean. I'm not _ordering_ you to. But if you wanted to you should feel comfortable to do so.”

She patted his arm. “There’s plenty of T&A in the regular bathing suit, I promise. You’re welcome to ogle.”

"Well thank you. I'm glad we got that cleared up ahead of time.” 

Something hung in the air then. It wasn’t awkward, but it was. . .heavy. After a moment, she asked, “You want to dance, George?”

He grinned and held out a hand. "I would love to dance.”

There was a slow song, and he pulled her into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

"For what?" he murmured into her hair.

“Oh. . . everything. It’s all been a little fairytale.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair. "You are very welcome.” It probably wasn’t a good thing to be attracted to her. It would be much better if they could keep this a business-like transaction. But he wasn’t all that sure he could. He’d had a harder and harder time shutting down this line of thinking when it popped up. Now she was in his arms in a wedding gown, and it felt better than it had any right to. Maybe he was just getting sucked into the moment, and reality would return. 

At the end of the reception, the four of them were loaded into a private jet to take them to Hawaii. It had bedrooms, and the kids were tucked and fast asleep an hour into the flight. He dug up two champagne flutes and put ginger ale in them, and she laughed when she saw them.

"What shall we toast to?" he asked, handing her one before sinking into his seat.

“Enjoying the next two years we’re stuck with each other?”

"Real happiness in our fake marriage?”

“Why not? I like your company. I think you like mine. Life is short, might as well enjoy it while you’re living it.”

He watched her, sitting there in a tank top and ponytail and no makeup, and he still thought she was gorgeous. It wasn’t just the wedding then, was it? “I'll drink to that," he said, clinking her glass with his.

*

Amelia and George mostly kept themselves awake on the flight. Due to some convoluted time zone issues, they would be landing an hour or so after taking off—despite being in the air seven hours. Their bodies were all still on California time, so they stayed up in hopes of avoiding jet lag.

There was no airport to deal with, as the Stark estate had it’s own airstrip. Household staff met them at the plane, with the same electric golf carts that they had at the Ithaca compound. She and George carried two sleeping toddlers to the house and tucked them into the bedrooms that had been prepared for them. Then they waved vaguely at each other and stumbled to their rooms. Amelia fell asleep face down on her bed, on top of the covers.

She woke up in paradise.

French doors led to a lanai that seemed to spill right onto the beach. Crystal blue ocean spread out as far as the eye could see. It was a gorgeous day, not a cloud in a the sky and only enough breeze to scent the air with tropical flowers.

The view from the living room was even better, not the least because George was sitting in the outdoor eating area, sipping coffee and reading something on a personal tablet. He lifted his cup in greeting when he saw her.

“FRIDAY says the kids are still out,” she said, sinking into the chair across from him. “Blissful peace.”  
"Nothing says peaceful slumber like tropical air. Trips to Hawaii were the only time AJ and I let my parents sleep in.”

“I can already feel myself relaxing.”

"That's what this place does to you." He sipped his coffee. "I figure we'll have a lazy day today, wander down to the beach whenever the kids get antsy.”

“That sounds utterly delightful.”

"This must be your first vacation in a while.”

“More years than I can recall.” She wasn’t sure she’d ever been on a real vacation. Certainly not ever one like this. She inclined her head in the direction of the house. “Is there food in the kitchen?”

George smiled. “There’s a chef in the kitchen. FRIDAY?” 

Amelia had no idea where the speakers were, but the Irish voice came back immediately. “What would you like to eat, ma’am?”

She could get used to this.

When the kids woke she put on her bathing suit and slathered the two of them in sunscreen, sun suits, and hats before taking everyone down to the beach. George tanned easily and so was shirtless. She tried not to stare and failed, which happened back in LA, too. But something about it, right now, felt different. Sometimes she’d catch him staring back, and found herself wishing she had that bikini.

He took both kids into the water, tossing them in the air and dunking them, all to delighted squeals. Then they hunkered near the water's edge and he showed them the find art of sand castle building before toting two exhausted toddlers back to the house. "I think we managed to avoid sun burn," he commented.

“Victory is ours,” she replied solemnly. 

They got the kids down for their naps with no effort. And then they had a couple hours to just lounge around. Amelia took a nap in a hammock. The staff fed them when they were hungry, and unearthed a plethora of toys for the kids to play with when they woke up.

It was the most relaxed she’d ever been in her life. They had kailua pork for dinner and let the kids splash in the kid pool—built when George and his siblings were small—as the sun set. From somewhere he produced a children’s book about Hawaiian legends and read it to the two of them as they fell asleep in the light of a very well-shielded fire pit.

After shifting a bit so Clem was draped on his lap and no longer at risk of sliding off the bench, George nodded and leaned back, looking at the stars. "Yep, this is pretty much how I remember these trips as a kid.”

“You had a good childhood,” she said. “No wonder you’re a good Dad.”

"My upbringing was very strange but very happy," he agreed.

“My upbringing was. . . not.” Of course, she didn’t really want to talk about that and immediately regretted bringing it up. “We should take the kids up to bed.”

To he relief, he didn't press, just nodded and slipped his arms under Clem. "You got Milo okay?”

Amelia nodded, lifting him to snuggle against her shoulder. He tucked into his crib without a peep. She stroked his hair a moment, hoping ‘very strange but very happy’ was how he’d describe his childhood, too.

Clem must have taken longer to go down, because she beat George back to the fire pit. She got settled on one of the comfortably padded chairs with a cup of tea, and stared at the fire, thinking about the morning and the wedding and everything else. 

George came out a few minutes later, with his own cup of coffee. "Did you want some alone time?" he asked.

“No,” she said, watching him. “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

"Should I be worried?" he asked, coming out to sit in the chair next to her.

“I hope not.” Just a crazy idea she’d been trying to ignore. She took a sip of her tea. “So, I’ve been thinking. . . well, a little, mostly I am thinking out loud right now. But we are going to be, as we keep joking, stuck together for several years. And we seem to get along pretty well. . .”

He arched a brow. "We already got married.”

“You know, in many cultures, a marriage isn’t considered valid until it’s consummated.”

He had been in the middle of sipping his coffee and spit, coughing a moment. "What?" he wheezed.

Amelia felt her face heat. “Okay, maybe I misinterpreted that whole exchange about the bikini. Nevermind.” Maybe some quicksand would appear beneath the deck and swallow her.

"No, no. That was surprise, not rejection. I did not expect you to bring it up. At least not this soon.”

She took a steading breath, and made herself look at him. He was watching her intently. “So you do feel it?” she asked him.

"Of course. I have for a while now. But you were, you know, kind of off limits.”

“Banging your kid’s nanny is generally frowned upon, isn’t it?”

"I mean, not in the circles I run in, but generally, yeah.”

“Plus there’s a whole power dynamic thing. . . I figured no matter what happened, you’d never bring it up.”

"Probably not, no. But now that you have. . ." He sipped his coffee. "You sure you haven't heard tales of the Stark men and want to take me for a spin.”

“I do not travel in circles where I hear tales about your prowess.” She poked him with her foot. “I know that you’re not on any of the whispered lists about powerful men who are likely to grope you. And I know that you’re bi, and so unlikely to be repressed or boring in bed. But that’s all I’ve got.”

"It's just as well, any tales of debauchery are probably out of date. I've mellowed a bit.”

“If it’s bad, then we don’t do it again, no hard feelings. But we’ve got only each other. Seems worth a try.”

He chuckled a little and shook his head. "Your seduction has merit, if no romance.”

“This is not a seduction, it’s a proposition. I’m not going to try and convince you if you’re not interested.”

"I am interested," he assured her. "Did you want to start tonight?"

She took a deep breath and said, “Yeah, I would.”

"Well, then." He took a sip of coffee and stood, holding a hand out to her. She slid her hand into his and let him pull her to her feet. Lifting his other hand, he brushed a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. Then he leaned down to kiss her.

They had kissed, very briefly, during the wedding ceremony. It was chaste, just a peck. This was slow and careful and gentle, but it wasn’t chaste. He cupped her face in his hands and titled her just so, and then the kiss went a little deeper, a little hotter. Until her toes curled against the warm stone tile.

When they parted, she sighed and her eyes fluttered. “Yeah, I definitely want to start tonight.”

He grinned widely and brushed another light kiss against her mouth before taking her hand and leading her into the house. She laced their fingers together and followed him to his room. It overlooked the ocean, and through the open glass doors you could hear the surf.

"If you change your mind," he said quietly. "You tell me.”

She looked up at him, not knowing how he knew she needed him to say that. Perhaps it wasn’t hard to infer how a man who threw his girlfriend through a glass handled sex. She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat and nodded.

He smiled, gentle and sweet, and kissed her again, lighting running his hands along her arms before exploring her back. Her sundress had little thin straps that crossed her back, so he could touch plenty of skin. Since she’d shown him her scars, she’d felt comfortable wearing that sort of thing around him. It was very. . . freeing.

George tugged one strap down, sliding it off her shoulder, and pressed a kiss to the skin there. Then trailed a line of kisses over to nuzzle her throat. She could feel herself leaning into him, lowering her arms so he could slide the dress down. “Word of warning,” she murmured as he tugged it down past her breasts.

"Mmm?" he asked, lifting his head a little to give her space.

She wasn’t entire sure how to phrase this and not put him off. “Be gentle with the, uh, girls, or you will get an unpleasant surprise.”

He blinked, then tipped his head back and laughed. "Well. Duly noted.”

Trying not to feel self conscious, she said. “I realize you are probably used to starlets and all. I am a little less. . . I have no artifice. None. I can’t even put on eyeliner without looking like a raccoon.”

"Hey." He trailed his hand along her skin, gently cupping her breast. "I've been with plenty of non-starlets. And have had my share of artifice. I like who you are.”

“I like who you are, too,” she replied, leaning in to kiss him. He wrapped his arms round her, backing up towards the bed. When they reached it, he sat, letting her loom over him as he eased her dress down.

It put him near eye-level with her least-favorite part of her body, but it was dim in the room and he was looking at her like there wasn’t a flaw to be found. Her dress pooled on the floor and she kicked it out of the way. She tugged at the shoulder of his shirt. “Take this off?”

Reaching back with one arm, he grabbed a fistful of the shirt neck and yanked if off, tossing it aside. He'd gotten a bit of color on the beach today, shoulders warm and freckled. He bent forward and kissed between her breasts, cupping her hips in his hands. Amelia sighed, tangling her fingers in his hair.

He remained very careful and gentle, dropping random kisses on her skin. He gave her breasts attention, but avoided her nipples in the interest of avoiding an incident. When her breath had grown short with anticipation he hooked his thumbs into her underwear and slowly eased them down.

“I’d have worn fancy ones if I’d know I was going to get my nerve up,” she told him.

"I'm really more interested in the present rather than the wrapping.”

“Yeah, I can see that about you,” she said.

He pressed a kiss to her belly, looking up at her. "Though if you want fancy underwear, I will buy you all you want.”

She grinned at him, thinking he was just really unreasonably gorgeous. “I will take you up on that.”

"Good." He kissed her hip. "Do you want to lay down?” She shivered and nodded, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her onto the bed and turning so he could ease her onto her back. It was quite a deft move, and she giggled.

With a grin, he gave her a few smacking kisses. "So you like when I show off a little?”

“Yeah, I do.” She stretched. “Seems like a good time to show off.” 

"Mmm. I like to think so." He kissed the curve of her breast, flattening a hand on her hip before sliding it around to cup her sex.

She lifted her hips, and opened her legs. The touch was light, gentle. He was taking his time. “Got any more tricks?”

"A few." He found her clit and swirled a finger around it. "But it's better if they're surprises.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, closing her eyes so she could focus on his touch. “I trust you.”

His mouth found her as he continued to tease her, exploring and learning her. When he found the right rhythm and pressure she gasped into his mouth and he hummed in approval, staying right there. She let herself get lost in it, since he seemed to not mind taking his time, and it felt so good.

She was hovering right at the edge when she felt him shift and two long fingers slid into her body. Something in her cracked and shattered, and she gasped in surprise as pleasure washed through her.

When she opened her eyes he was stretched out next to her, petting her gently as she came down. His smiled bordered on smug, but he probably deserved it. 

“You’re magic,” she told him breathlessly. “I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

Smug turned to horrified. “What?"

“Generally I need to provide my own orgasms.”

His brows arched. "Your previous lovers have little redeeming value.”

“I kind of assumed the common denominator was me.” She shrugged. “I could never quite relax, I think. Which is not to say I didn’t enjoy myself.”

"Still a guy should at least try to go the extra mile.”

She leaned over to kiss him. “Is discussing my exes really what you want to be doing right now?”

"No, probably not." He wrapped an arm around her and rolled onto his back, dragging her with him. 

She straddled his hips, and realizes he was still wearing his shorts, so she slid back to undo them. Somehow the button thread snapped and the damn thing came flying off. “That’s just shoddy workmanship,” she muttered, which made him laugh.

"Finally, a hot woman who rips my clothes off.”

“A naked one, too.” The zipper managed not to break and she shoved them down. “You probably paid $400 for these shorts, didn’t you?”

"$200 at most.”

She wrapped her fingers around his cock, pleased at the sigh that got out of him. “There are hot women who would happily shred your clothes for a lot cheaper than that.”

"But I don't need them anymore. I have you.”

“You do.” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of his head and kissing him.

He cupped the back of her head, kissing her back. He shifted his hips, rocking into her hand as she stroked him. She moved forward enough to guide him inside her, sighing as she sank down. This felt really, really good, too. He seemed to agree, based on the groan that escaped him

His hands settled on her hips as she started to move on him, not guiding, just helping as she found the angle and speed that worked for her. She didn’t think it was possible she’d come again, but she almost thought she could, maybe. He didn’t seem like the sort of guy who’d be offended if she touched herself.

In fact, he grinned when he saw her hand snake down to stroke her clit. He was watching her intently, like he was in the desert and she was the only water. His hips started to lift up to her as he grew closer. Usually that would make her feel like she was on a timer, and that would be it. But maybe there was something magic about them, because it only cranked her higher. She might have actually screamed when she finally fell over the edge.

She was fairly sure George followed quickly after, but she was too lost in her own pleasure to be sure. She sank down on his chest and he held her, kissing her hair as they both tried to catch their breath.

“Yeah,” she said finally. “That was a worthy endeavor.”

George rumbled a laugh under her ear. "I agree completely.”

“So I guess now we have a real honeymoon?” she asked.

"With two kids in tow.”

“It’ll be good practice for being home.” She lifted her head and kissed him. “Thank you.”

"You're welcome." He stroked her hair. "For what?”

“Uh, the really good sex?”

He laughed. "Okay. Just making sure I hadn't done something else awesome.”

She laughed, too, settling against him. “If you want to top yourself, you have a whole week to think something up.”

"I do take requests," he told her, running a hand down her back to cup her ass.


	7. Chapter 7

Never in his life had George wanted to come back from a vacation _less_. He loved his home and his job, but their time in Hawaii might have been the most enjoyable time of his life.

"I'm seriously considering missing our flight and hiding out here forever," he told Amelia their last night there as the watched the kids splash in the kiddie pool.

“I think your family would find you.”

He sighed, tipping his head back. "The lectures would be epic, too.”

She leaned over and whispered, “The sex will continue at home.”

"I know, and I'm sure it'll be fantastic." He swept and arm out to encompass the kids and the ocean and the view. "But all this. . .”

“We have a beach and ocean in the yard at home, too.” 

"But it's not. . ." He frowned. "I suppose it is the same ocean, isn't it.”

“I know what you mean, though. I feels like we’re in a magic little bubble of bliss.” She gave him an adorable smile. “Like a honeymoon.”

He leaned over and kissed her. "Exactly like a honeymoon.”

In the morning, much as no one wanted to, they loaded Clem and Milo onto the plane and watched the islands disappear out the windows.

"We should make a tradition out of that," George said after they'd gotten the kids distracted with some toys. "I don't take enough vacations.”

“I am a big fan of them,” Amelia said. “I will plan some and get your admin to put them on your calendar.”

He squinted at her. "Already embracing the CEO's wife thing, I see.”

She grinned back. “Might as well.”

"My mother would be proud.”

“Anything else you’d like me to organize for you?”

"Make sure you schedule time for me to treat you like a queen.”

She laughed. “You’re adorable, you know that?”

"I try." He pointed at her scoldingly. "But schedule it anyway.”

When they got back to LA, George went back to work, and Amelia took care of the kids. She cooked dinner at night and they ate at the table. It was very Norman Rockwell. He had no idea he could be this happy being this domestic. 

One evening as they were cleaning up after dinner, her phone rang and he could see her entire face change, and she sat down with force. Whatever it was, it was _bad_. He went to go check on the kids to give her a moment of privacy, then went back to the kitchen when he heard her hand up. "What's wrong?”

She blew out a shaky breath and rubbed her hands over her pants. “That was Milo’s father. His cousin saw me on the news and called to tell him I was in the US and had gotten married.”

"Ah." He went and sat at the table with her. "What did he have to say.”

“That I was his, and he was going to come here and drag back to Australia. By my hair if necessary.” She took a breath. “At that point, I asked him if he knew who my husband was. He said Chrissy didn’t tell him, and he didn’t care. I told him to go ahead and google that, and call me back if he still wanted to come pick a fight. I’d happily give him the address.” She smiled at George. "Then I hung up.”

He found himself grinning. "Did that feel good?”

“It really did.” She reached out and put her hands over his. “For once in my life, I feel safe. That’s really something.”

He turned his hand over to hold hers. "I will always keep you safe.” 

“Thank you.” She grinned and leaned over to kiss him.

George cupped her face in his hands to kiss her back. "But seriously, if you want him arrested. . . .”

“I’m sure he’ll just piss himself and go back to his miserable life.”

"I'm still going to put security on alert. Just in case.”

She sighed. “It’s not the worst idea. And, he is Milo’s biological father. I’m concerned he might have some sort of claim if he actually does come here.”

"I will get my lawyers on that, too.”

He got the man’s name and contact information to give to the lawyers. He also mentioned the incident to his mother, because she liked to be kept appraised of any possible PR issues. He didn’t know who his mother told, but legal called him a week later to tell him Amelia’s ex had been arrested by the Australian government for tax fraud.

"I don't even know which cousin to blame," he admitted when he told Amelia. "I can list at least five with the skills to do it.”

She laughed. “I feel genuinely welcome in your family.”

"We take care of our own," he said, kissing her forehead.

A few weeks later, he had to travel overseas, and found himself very disappointed he couldn’t take them with him—Amelia couldn’t leave the country while her immigration paperwork was processing. He missed them while he was gone. The hotel room was too empty and too quiet. He found couldn’t wait to get home.

It was not quite the reunion he pictured, though. Both kids were napping, and Amelia was sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea. She looked up at him, sighed, and said, “Sit.”

He obeyed with the speed and efficiency of a man raised by Pepper Potts. "What did I do?”

“Nothing,” she said immediately. “I didn’t mean for you to think—“ she broke off and cleared her throat. “I guess it’s not really anyone’s fault—except for maybe the person who invented timezones. Though, admittedly, I was the one who. . .” She looked at him. “George, I swear on my life I did not do this on purpose. Despite how it probably looks.”

Now he was even more lost, thought fairly certain it wasn't his fault. "Start at the beginning.”

She sighed again. “I seem to be pregnant.”

George stared at her a moment. Then let out a surprised bark of laughter. "Holy shit.”

“I think the day-skipping thing when we flew from New York to Hawaii caused me to miss a pill. And clearly we are very fertile as this is not the first time this has happened to either of us. So that is. . . that.”

He got to his feet and went over to her. "I'm happy about this. Awkward as it might be.”

She looked up at him. “Really?”

"Yes. I love Clem and Milo. I grew up with only a couple sibling but I have dozens of cousins. The more kids the merrier, I say.”

“It makes things much more complicated,” she said. 

"I know." He rubbed her arm gently. "But we can figure that out when we get there." He was very deliberately not thinking about their inevitable, eventual divorce. He'd only been "married" a few weeks, but it was already the happiest he'd ever been.

She had tears in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

"One hundred percent.”

That got him a smile. “Okay.”

"Are _you_ happy?”

Amelia took a deep breath. “Yes. I think so. As long as I don’t have to do it alone.”

"Sweetheart, you are going to have more help than you know what to do with.”

After a bit of discussion, they decided not to tell anyone until they were sure the baby was healthy and everything was progressing normally. He got to do things he hadn’t been able to with Clem, like take a morning off to stare at a vaguely human-shaped blob on an ultrasound screen. Listen to it’s heartbeat. 

He told AJ first, because AJ understood him better than anyone. Unfortunately his brother was working on a hospital project in rural India and not really accessible—he’d flown in just for the wedding and right back out—and so George told him via email. He was surprised when AJ called him the next day. 

“So what I’m hearing is I really can’t leave you unsupervised.”

"I have never let you supervise my bedroom activities, no matter what the tabloids say.”

“No, but you complain I cockblock you all the time. Probably because I’m the better looking twin.”

"Are you mad I had sex with my wife?”

“Last I heard she was your nanny and it was a paperwork thing.”

George shrugged, even though it wasn't a video chat. "We're close, we get along well. You make it sound like we met a week before the wedding.”

He could hear AJ sigh. “So this is a real thing, then?”

"I think it's. . . becoming real.”

“Ah.” There was a moment of silence, before he said, “Does she feel the same?”

"I can't tell. I think so. I want to give her more time to make sure it's sincere emotion and not mixed up with gratitude or anything.”

“That may take some time to peel that apart.” Another pause. “You want me to come home for a bit?”

"No, no. You're busy. Save it for closer to the birth.”

“You might want to be careful when you tell Ruby, by the way. She was pretty upset about the whole thing with Clem.”

"I know, I know." Though he liked to think he'd cleared the air a bit there. "It might help we all get to be a part of this one.”

“Mom and Dad will be ecstatic.”

"They will," he confirmed. "They're muttering about moving out here.”

AJ laughed. “Many of the cultures I’ve worked in speak highly of multi-generational living.”

"I suppose the house is big enough. The cousins could have a bet on how we make it.”

“It’s probably time I got my own house anyway.”

"If you think you can handle it," George teased.

“I bet it will be quiet.”

"What will you do with yourself?" Their household growing up had been many things, quiet was not one of them.

“Maybe I’ll get a mail order bride."

"Do they still have those?”

“They have everything somewhere in the world, I promise. I’m going to loose the satellite soon so I should go. I’ll be home when I can.” He paused. “Might be fun to be an uncle.”

"I think you'll enjoy it. Stay safe, talk to you soon.”

George decided, after he hung up, that telling Ruby before his parents was a good idea, and he might as well get it over with. 

When he told her Amelia was pregnant, there was an awkward pause before she asked, “And it’s yours?”

He snorted a laugh. "Yes. Also, ouch.”

“I don’t know. You’ve only known her a few months.” He could hear Ruby sigh. “I watched you guys at the wedding and am not surprised. Concerned, but not surprised.”

"I know it seems sketchy. But I don't think this is just about paperwork. Not anymore.”

“It can be sketchy without being about paperwork.” 

George tamped down on his flare of anger. "Do you think she's using me?”

“No, but I think she may be caught up in the fairytale. Gorgeous, wealthy dude shows up, rescues her, solves all her problems, showers her with luxury. . . it’s the plot of a romance novel.”

"That is a good point," he conceded. "And one I've considered.”

“Have you come off company manners yet? Has she seen the self-absorbed jackass you can sometimes be? Though, granted, not as much as you used to be.” When drunk he’d put the worst behavior of his father and grandfather to shame. It was a hard reputation to shake, and he was still Tony Stark’s son, particularly at work.

"Not completely. But once work gets busy I imagine he'll come out.”

“At this point you’re tied together for the long term no matter how it turns out.”

"I'm aware of that.”

She sighed again. “Look, I know you’re my brother and I should be more excited about this, but you’re today’s third baby and I’m a little low on all brands of enthusiasm.”

"Geez, who else is procreating?”

“At brunch Asima told us Neil and Frances are having a baby, at which point Edie confessed that she was pregnant. Though don’t tell anyone about that, it’s very new.”

"Got it." They really were turning into their parents. "I'm sorry Rubes. If it helps, I told you before I told Mom and Dad.”

“It’s fine. I’m going to get as good at throwing baby showers as I am wedding things.”

George had no idea what to say to her, though he made a mental note to call Edie and have her take Ruby out for something fun soon. "If it's a girl, you want me to name it after you?”

She laughed. “No. Not at all.”

"George Jr it is.”

“Sometimes you’re all Dad, you know that?”

"I do, in fact, know that.”


	8. Chapter 8

Amelia’s family had been kind of crappy, and their turning a blind eye to what had been happening with Milo’s biological father hadn’t endeared any of them to her. So she found George’s family fascinating and wonderful. He took her back east for Christmas, and is was as much a circus as their wedding had been. Most of them didn’t know their marriage had been intended to be fake, and reacted to the baby announcement happily. There were, apparently, two other babies arriving that coming year. 

They learned not long after they were having a girl, and that their immigration interview had been scheduled for March.

George had them sit down with the lawyers at the end of January to go over anything they might need prior to the interview. "The very obvious baby bump will probably be sufficient," the lawyer said kindly. "But they may still ask some questions about your lifestyle and histories, so if there's anything important you haven't talked over, do so.”

“I read they ask you questions about toiletries,” Amelia said. “We have separate bathrooms.”

He chuckled. "Well, you probably don't need to know what color toothbrush the other has. But reaching an agreement on shampoo and hand soap might not go amiss.”

“I don’t know where the hand soap comes from,” she replied. “It appears.”

"The toiletry fairy brings it," George confirmed.

“I haven’t really learned how to be a rich person yet.”

"I'll have a pamphlet printed.”

“Okay. So. Sync the soaps.” Amelia made a note. “Anything else?”

He spread his hands. "Usual stuff you'd know as a married couple. Education levels, family history, medical issues. Like I said, I think the pregnancy will go a long way towards convincing them, but getting the basics down won't hurt.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve been through the basics at this point.” He was famous enough she knew a lot about him before she ever met him. The press didn’t give any of his family much privacy. But she wrote _Compare Timelines_ on her notepad. Then she smiled at him. “Secretive you are not.”

He smiled back, but it seemed a little thin. "We can have a chat tonight after dinner.”

Amelia watched him, not saying anything, but realizing he was giving his PR smile. The fake one. She felt a thread of worry but told herself—like she had at other times—that her past was making her paranoid.

They wrapped up with the lawyer and headed out to the car. George reached out and took her hand. "How're you feeling?”

“Me? I’m fine. How are you?”

"I'm all right. I'm not pregnant.”

She frowned at him. “Are you sure?”

He blew out a breath. "Yeah. I. . . there's nothing to worry about. I promise.”

She watched him a moment, then said, “Okay. Sorry. Don’t meant to hang my baggage on you.”

"It's okay. Really." He flashed a real smile. "Come on, let's get home.”

He took her home and went back to work. They had a service that provided babysitters, and Amelia tipped the sitter generously before sending her home. The other night George had floated the idea of getting a nanny after the baby came, just for help with having that many little ones. She thought it was hilarious. . . but also not the worst idea ever.

She was becoming accustomed to this lifestyle, apparently.

He emerged for dinner, as usual, and listened to Clem and Milo excitedly and incoherently tell him about their days while he got them cleaned up and ready to eat.

“The sitter ran them ragged, they’ll probably go down early.”

"Milo might not make it through dessert," he agreed, buckling the little boy into his chair.

“Maybe we’ll get away with under half a dozen stories.”

George grinned at her. "I won't take that bet.”

They read give stories before Clem passed out. Amelia tried not to gloat.

"All right, all right," he said as they walked back out to the living room. "You are the toddler whisperer.”

“Come,” she said, sitting on the couch. “Tell me about your soap preferences, and then I might feel good enough to fool around.”

He smiled that thin smile agin, but came and sat, rubbing his hands on the leg or his jeans. "I'm afraid there's something I haven't really talked about that you should know.”

She watched him. “You mean the nothing to worry about?”

"Yeah. That." He blew out a breath. "I'm an alcoholic. I've been sober over three years.”

Amelia blinked in surprise. “That seems like the kind of thing you tell someone before you get married.”

"Yeah, it is, And I'm sorry I didn't. I think I felt like I missed my opportunity early on and didn't know how to do it later.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Would you ever have told me if the lawyers didn’t make you.”

"I would have, yeah. It's a part of me and I shouldn't have hidden it.”

He was apologetic, and clearly sincere. She shouldn’t feel hurt. But she did anyway. Hurt and. . . off balance. She wanted to ask him if he had any other big secrets. Or maybe just cry. She rubbed her eyes. “It’s fine. I guess it’s not really real, anyway.”

"Honey," he said softly. "I'm sorry.”

She shook her head, wanting to both yell at him and not talk about it at all. Neither was probably healthy. “It’s okay. I’m glad you told me, that could have been awkward.”

He was quiet a moment. "It's okay to be mad at me. You don't have to. . . we are really real.”

She sighed again. “Are we?”

"I have feelings for you. They're real.”

He was right, though. About her being afraid to be mad at him. Finally she looked at him. “I have feelings, too. Right now they’re hurt.” 

He nodded. "Do you want to talk about them? Or do you need time?”

“It just feels like a big secret,” she said, because talking was better than hiding. “What else is there? Do you trust me? Can I trust you? Maybe I’d have wanted to put this in the prenup clause. The last time I lived with a drunk guy I got 57 stitches!” The last one came out at a yell, and she clapped her hand over her mouth after she said it. “I’m sorry.”

"You don't have to apologize for that. That's a completely valid worry." He paused, twisting his hands. "Do you want me to tell you how I got sober?”

She didn’t see how that would help, but he seemed to want to tell her, and that was something. “Okay.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts. "I was always a partier. Like my dad, you know? Proud family tradition. But I tried to keep it under control. Didn't go to work drunk, didn't drink alone. But eventually I started to slip. Started making shitty decisions. Until one morning I drove drunk and totaled a parked car.”

“I suppose that’s better than an occupied one.” It hadn’t been in the news. She wanted to ask him how much he’d paid the owner to keep their mouth shut. Apparently she was still mad.

"The owner came out and found me. Stuart. You'll probably meet him eventually. He was a TV producer, and a recovering addict. So he hauled my sorry ass inside, gave me coffee, bandaged my head and we talked. For a few hours.”

“About what?”

"Everything. Responsibility, expectations. How easily I could have killed someone. How luck I was I hadn't." He met her eyes. "Keep in mind, I had no memory of getting in that car and deciding to drive. I"d had black outs before, but not like that. Stu told me about the under cover AA meeting that floats around LA. Helped me put together a plan to detox without it becoming national news.”

“I’m impressed how well you kept that under wraps. I just. . . I guess I assumed the world didn’t let you have secrets.”

"Stu was a big help. It was not his first rodeo. And it helped that I could have a concierge doctor and nurse come in for detox.”

Amelia nodded. “And that was that?”

"That was the last time I drank. I'd like to promise I never will again, but no alcoholic can. I can tell you I like sober me a lot better than drunk me. And that if I do fall off the wagon I have a good, solid support network to help me back on.”

“That’s good.” She looked over at him. “I suppose it’s nice to find a flaw.”

He smiled a little crookedly. "Prince Charming was wearing on you a bit?”

“The whole thing felt too good to be true. Still does a little. Maybe because I’ve just decided not to think about certain things. You know, later.”

He fiddled his fingers a moment, looking like he wished he had something to tinker with. Then he said, "I don't want to spend this marriage waiting for the end.”

She reached over, taking one of his hands. “Neither do I. But I’m good at putting things out of my mind. Particularly things I know will hurt.” 

"You know that's not a healthy coping mechanism." His tone was teasing. "I'm wondering. . . I like you. I know this all happened backwards, but I feel like we have a good dynamic. That this could be a real relationship. So I'm wondering if you'd like to try that? Maybe get some couples counseling to help us sort it out?”

Amelia shifted enough to test her head on his shoulder. “I’d like that. This is the happiest I’ve ever been. I want it to be real.”

"So would I." He pressed a little kiss to her head. "My wild family has taught me there's no wrong way to fall in love.”

They were quiet a long moment, then she said. “So no other secrets?”

He shook his head. "Sometimes I'm a jackass and a workaholic. Family members will randomly drop in at times. I show affection through presents. I hate the smell of lavender and the taste of mint.”

She lifted her head. “Wait, is that strawberry toothpaste in your bathroom yours?”

"Yes. Watermelon is also acceptable.”

Sometimes he really was adorable. “See? Now that I’m going to remember.”

He grinned. “Good."

They found a counselor, who in turn suggested that Amelia see a therapist of her own to sort through her past trauma—which proved _very_ helpful. She also recommended they try doing some actual dating, leading to them getting to have a grown up conversation, not involving lawyers, in a nice restaurant once a week. They hired a full time nanny. He took childbirth classes with her, and his mother and sister insisted on throwing her a baby shower, despite the fact that they already owned every baby item possible. (So she thought—the floating bassinet tricked out to survive a bomb blast and provide the monitoring of a full-fledged NICU—called a BabyPod—was a fascinating surprise.

And slowly, she and George figured themselves out.

Their immigration interview got rescheduled into the middle of April, and when asked when she was due, Amelia could brightly reply, “Tuesday!” Though Milo had been a week and a half late, so she wasn’t holding her breath. 

They were out of there so fast, she didn’t get a chance to mention the strawberry toothpaste. 

“I feel like I crammed for a midterm that got canceled,” she said to him on the drive home. 

"Are you disappointed? Do you want to call my mom and tell her everything you learned about me?”

“If your mother wanted to know those things, she’d just ask FRIDAY.” George had insisted they take the Land Rover, which despite it being a good decade old and not as nice as any of the rest of his cars he insisted was the car he drove to important things. It had uncomfortable seats. His other cars had lots of buttons to adjust the back support. “God, I’m turning into a snob.” 

"That's what happens. Aunt Violet will happily tell you how she used to be normal.”

The baby kicked her right in the cervix and she winced, rubbing her bump. “So what is your thing with this car?”

"This was Stu's car. The one I wrecked. I bought it from him.”

She found that adorable, but didn’t know if she should say so. He was far more sentimental than you’d ever think to look at him. “Hence, important things. That’s valid.” Her nose itched, and then she sneezed. “Well, shit.”

"Bless you," he said automatically. "What's wrong?”

“I just peed on your ceremonial upholstery.”

He chuckled. "It can be replaced.”

“Maybe with something that’s not tan?”

"Yes, dear.”

He park the SUV under the house, and came around to help her out. As she climbed out more liquid ran down her leg. She frowned down at the concrete. “Back in the car.”

"I don't think it needs to be reupholstered _today_ -“

She pointed at the puddle. “Unless there is something deeply, _deeply_ wrong with my bladder, we’re going to need to get back in the car.”

He frowned at her a moment. Then his eyes widened comically. "Oh, shit. Should I get your bag? Is your bag packed?”

“It’s in the trunk of the Bentley,” she said, feeling strangely calm. “FRIDAY, tell Lupe what’s going on and that we’ll call her with an update but she may need to work late tonight. George, back in the car.” 

This time he obeyed, heading back to his side of the car as she climbed bak in hers. "Should we call my parents? They'll want to get on a plane.”

“I have already notified them, and Miss Ruby,” FRIDAY said.

"Thank you FRIDAY," he called, waiting for Amelia to close her door before putting the car in gear. "Are you having contractions?”

“No, but once your water breaks you’ve got 24 hours one way or the other.”

"Was it like this with Milo?”

She shook her head. “I was induced because I was late. Whole thing took three days.” It had been awful and lonely. The only person who even knew was Kayla, and she called intermittently mostly to ask where things were and whine about having to look after her own baby.

He reached over and caught her hand, kissing the back. "I'll take good care of you.”

“I believe you,” she said, squeezing his hand.

His mother called when they were driving and he managed to sound calm and rational when he spoke to her. "No, I don't need to hear any of your birth stories again, Mom.”

“We’re getting on the jet now,” Pepper replied. “There was a tussle, your father wanted to fly over in a suit.”

“That was a joke!” he called from somewhere in the background.

"Ada took his suit access away ages ago," George said.

“It is because you are all young and naive, even Ada, that you think that would really stop him if he was determined enough."

"We'll see you guys when you get here.”

Amelia laughed. “Your family is hilarious.”

"I've often considered selling our security videos as sitcoms.”

“Something to fall back on if you lose the rest of your fortune.”

"It's nice to have options," he agreed. "Hey, FRIDAY, did you tell AJ?”

“I sent a message but I couldn’t reach him,” the AI replied. “He’s in Nigeria and seems to have poor satellite reception. He’s due to fly home this weekend.”

"Keep trying, please. I don't want him to think we forgot him.”

“Yes, boss.”


	9. Chapter 9

Babies took a long time to be born. George wasn’t a huge fan of waiting, but in this case there wasn’t much he could do. His parents and sister camped out in the waiting room and wouldn’t budge. In the early hours Amelia let his mother and Ruby come in for a visit, but mostly she wanted just him.

He walked her around the room, letting gravity help. He stood and let her hold his shoulders as she swayed. He stood and glared at nurses and doctors who promised her something would happen "any minute now." It seemed to be his job and he was good at it.

“This is better than being alone,” she told him between contractions.

He smiled. "Company is usually nice.”

She leaned on him, gripping his arms with nearly painful force through another one. “Will you think less of me if I ask for an epidural?"

"Jesus, no. Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m punking out.”

"Honey, I'd have punked out like six hours ago. Get all the drugs you want.”

After another contraction, during which she actually yelled, she said, “Go be you and make it happen.”

"On it." He kissed her head and headed out of the room to go find a nurse he recognized. He found her in the hall, and all she let him get out was, “Hi.”

“I just told you the bathroom was that way,” she said, taking his arm and turning him in a different direction before bustling down the hall.

He pivoted and went after her. "No. I need to talk to someone. My wife wants an epidural.”

“Ah, yes. I imagine it’s about time. I can page anesthesiology.” George followed her to the nurse’s station so that he could tell Amelia it was definitely done.

He waited while she got on the phone and listened close enough to make sure the right things were said. He found himself wishing that Aunt Amanda was there. Medical people were generally in awe of her and she took over any hospital she was in, even if it was her first time there. It was very reassuring. Still, the nurse smiled at him and promised someone would be down soon to help.

He went back to Amelia’s room, and she greeted him with, “You better have not brought food in here.”

"I. . . didn't? I was getting you an epidural.”

“One of the other nurses just told me she talked to you and you were going to the cafeteria.” She paused for another contraction. “Thought about kicking you in the head when you returned, but you need to eat. Where are my drugs?”

"They paged anesthesiology and he should be here soon. I'll go pester them again if he doesn't show up.”

“Thank you,” she said. “They’re really close together.”

"That means it's going to be over soon, right?”

“God, I hope so.” He sat next to her on the bed, and she leaned on him.

He put a hand on her back and rubbed in circles. "I feel like I should apologize for putting you in this situation.”

“We were both there,” she said through gritted teeth—she was trying to give him a reassuring smile but it came out more like a grimace.

There was a knock and the room door open. Amelia’s doctor came in, stopped, looked toward the hallway and then back at them. He blinked. “Are there two of you?”

George frowned wondering what was going on in this place. "She's the only pregnant one.”

Beside him, Amelia started to laugh. “I think FRIDAY found AJ. Ow.”

"Oh, God, that would explain it. My brother and I are twins," he told the doctor. "And she would like a needle in her back.”

“The anesthesiologist is on his way, I just need to check you first,” he said to Amelia. 

George moved off the bed so she could change position and to doctor could do his thing. He figured they'd get this done and he'd go track down AJ.

“Okay,” the doctor said after a moment of checking. “Bad news, it’s too late for an epidural. Good news, it’s time to push.”

“ _What?_ ” Amelia demanded. There was real murder in her voice.

"Baby's dropped and ready to come out." he hit the nurse's call button and started puttering around with various equipment. 

“No, I really wanted an epidural for this part.”

The doctor shook his head. "You're too far along, we can't give you an epidural at this point.”  
“Oh, fuck,” she replied, gripping George’s wrist so hard he hoped she didn’t break something. Then she said, “Okay, I need to push.”

Nurses were streaming in now, so George tucked himself near the head of the bed, trying to stay out of the way and offer Amelia support. The doctor got in place and ordered her when to push and how long. George held her hand and let her growl.

The childbirth classes—and stories from friends and family—had made him think this part was going to take a long time. But it didn’t. Two, maybe three pushes and suddenly there his daughter was.

They wiped her face and chest clean quickly before laying her on top of Amelia and covering them both with warm blankets. Amelia put a hand up to rub her back and hold her close. George let a little stunned by the whole thing.

She looked up at him. “You okay?”

"Yes. I think so. That was fast.”

That made her laugh. “For you, maybe.” She turned back to the baby, and whispered, “Hi there.”

He crouched down to get a better look at her scrunched, red face. "She's beautiful.”

Amelia grinned. “Yeah, she is. You want to hold her?”

"I would. Then I should go tell the crowd the newest Stark is here.” She shifted the baby, tucking the towel around her and handing her to George.

He cradled her, tucking the towels around her so she was snug and warm. The cries had tapered to little fussy hiccups and he cooed at her, bouncing to settle her further. "Hello, baby girl.”

She blinked up at him and yawned. He’d never seen Clem when she was this tiny—the first time he’d seen her had actually been pictures on the internet, all cleaned up and dressed up. She was utterly adorable. He could see his mother's mouth and Amelia's nose and cheeks.

"We should probably settle the name debate.”

“She’s got brown hair,” Amelia said. “You win.”

He grinned and kissed her forehead. "Welcome to the world, Virginia.”

“I should nurse her.” Amelia held up her arms. “Go tell you family.”

"What is your status on visitors?" he asked, setting Virginia back in her arms.

“Let me get her fed and settled and maybe put a shirt on. I’d love to have Clem and Milo come if it’s not too late.”

"I will see it done." He kissed her cheek "You're amazing.”

She beamed. “Yeah, I kinda am.”

He grinned and kissed her again, before heading out to his family. They were all in the waiting room, his parents and Ruby and AJ. His brother had had a haircut and shaved his beard since George last saw him, explaining a lot about why it had confused the hell out of the nurses. He had a burrito in one hand, so had clearly found the cafeteria. And for some reason, Ada Banner was there too.

"Hi," he said, hugging her when she stood. "What're you doing here?”

“I was in Wakanda and hopped over to give Junior a lift.” She pointed upwards. “The Royal Talon’s on the roof.”

"Thanks cuz." He kissed her cheek and asked his parents, "Has my child made national news yet?”

“You’ve got time,” his mother said. “There’s a hurricane in Florida.”

"Excellent. Well. You know." He cleared his throat. "Virginia Elizabeth Stark-Potts was born about twenty minutes ago.”

“George!” his mother said with a laugh. “Please find that poor child a nickname.” But she was kind of teary-eyed when she came to hug him—not that she’d ever admit it.

"We had an agreement. If she was a brunette she got your name, if she was a red-head she got Amelia's choice.” He wanted to use Ginger as a nickname—in some ways a more genuine homage to his mother, but Amelia felt a redhead named Ginger was a little much. 

Dad hugged him and said, “It’s the best thing in the world, isn’t it?”

"It really is," he agreed, grinning like a fool. "I got to hold her, she'd perfect.”

“Well, of course she is.”

George gave him another squeeze, then his brother. "I'll go see if Amelia's ready for visitors.”

She let the family come in, everyone taking a turn to hold the baby. It made him really feel what he’d missed with Clem, and understood why his family was so upset he’d missed it. That they all had. 

“When he was your age, I had nothing,” his father told him, baby draped over his arm in an odd position that did seem to make her happy. “Empty one night stands, a couple of robots, and an assistant who was being paid to not to sleep with me. Closest thing I had to family tried to kill me.” He patted Ginger’s back. “Glad you got to skip that part before getting to this one.”

"I got raised a lot different than you did," George pointed out. "All of us kids. You guys did a good job of giving us better lives.”

He grinned. “Thank you.” He chuckled. “It was harder than it looked.”

"Well you had to do it in between apocalypses.”

Lupe, their nanny, arrived right about then with Clem and Milo in tow, and his family cleared out so they could have a little private time. Amelia got both kids snuggled in on the bed with her while she nursed the baby. George stood there a minute, thinking about how just a year ago, his life had mostly been about one night stands and robots, too. And a few years before that, entirely about getting his next drink.

He perched on the edge of the bed and rubbing Clem's back as she watched Amelia through sleepy eyes. "Thank you," he said softly.

She looked up at him with a contented smile. “For what?”

"Giving me a family.”

“Well. Thank you for saving mine. I can’t even tell you how heartbroken and terrified I was the day you showed up on Kayla’s doorstep.”

"That was a very bad day to start a very wonderful thing.”

She touched the back of his hand. “I love you.”

"I love you too," he said softly.

Amelia grinned. “If you pick her up, you can probably squeeze on this bed with us.”

And so he did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoped you all enjoyed George's story. We have a few different one's we're currently working on--one for Roger and Asima, one for Ruby, one for Joey Rogers and I think one other. Stay tuned, we'll get one of 'em done soon.


End file.
